Invincible
by elusivetruth
Summary: Tony Stark was born different than other kids his age; he had a boy's body, but she knew she was really a girl. As an adult, Megan Stark's world is turned upside down while on a trip in Afghanistan. Now she is forging her life into something new — something invincible. Trans* Tony Stark; fem!Tony.
1. Prologue: Love and Arms

**Invincible**

_Prologue: Love and Arms_

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. _Invincible_ is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.

Update (03/01/2014): I discovered today that ff-net mucked up my formatting more than I had previously realized, so I fixed it all today.

* * *

"The world is always ready to receive talent with open arms. Very often it does not know what to do with genius."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

* * *

**Thursday, May 29th, 1986 11:49a | Stark Residence**

Howard Stark was having a bad morning. By all accounts, it should have been a good morning, albeit a busy one, since it was his son's sixth birthday. The guests would be arriving any minute, and everything was in place: A couple of tables stood end-to-end, each spot decked with red paper plates, white plastic silverware, and a gold napkin, Tony's favorite colors. A separate table was set aside and buried under enough snack food to sate a horse.

Howard blinked at the thought. "A horse? I need to get rid of that Speak-and-Spell, or Tony's going to drive me crazy sooner or later."

After a moment's pause, he continued his inspection of the party area, trying to suss the problem. The drink table was a picture of perfection, covered in juice boxes, all strawberry flavored. Howard knew the guests would think it was odd, but Tony was picky, and Maria wanted everything to be _perfect_ for her "little one." Howard cringed as he thought back to a time when he tricked Tony into drinking cranberry juice. Tony, ever the smart kid, had noticed the juice was a darker red than he was used to and initially refused to drink it. He eventually tried it, but only after his father had reassured him the drink was similar to strawberry juice (_"Strawberries are red, right, Tony? Well, this is a different red berry."_). Naturally, the moment the bitter juice had touched Tony's tongue, it reversed course and graced Howard's shirt rather than Tony's stomach.

With a final glance over the room, Howard nodded to himself.

"Everything's ready," he said aloud, to no one in particular. Of course it was all ready. Maria would have moved heaven and earth to make it _perfect_. Not that she had to, given how diminutive the guest list was. Tony wasn't exactly a social creature.

"But are _you_ ready?" Howard shivered with pleasure as his beloved Maria's slender arms slid around his middle and squeezed him lightly. Thirty-one years. They'd been married for thirty–one years, and she still made his heart sing. Well, she made many things "sing," but he curbed that train of thought quickly. He didn't relish the idea of a guest accidentally seeing his... equipment.

Howard opened his mouth to reassure Maria, but no words came out. "Of course I am," he could have said. "Why wouldn't I be?" he wanted to reply.

But it was no use — Maria had always known when he was bothered. Hell, she'd been able to back before they began dating. Back before they lost the Captain. Back before the Curtain fell. God, back before so many things. The War was without a doubt the most horrific period of his life, but it was the most exciting one too.

Working with S.H.I.E.L.D. had been his breakthrough. When he first started, he had so many dreams, and it had been so frustrating to see them unfulfilled. His biggest success before the War had been a flying car. A flying car! It worked really, really well — for the first five seconds, anyway. It wasn't long after that when Dr. Erskine sucked him into S.H.I.E.L.D. and, if he was honest with himself, the rest of his life. A life filled with enough government contracts to truly fund R&D. A life filled with exciting people like Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, and Maria Stark née Carbonell. War was the simple life: get paid to stop the bad people and save the world.

Howard broke free of his reminiscing long enough to whisper a reply, "Not really."

Maria softly replied with a soft, "I thought as much." Howard started to unconsciously scrutinize the room for a problem, any problem. Finding none (_Perfect!_), he finally gave up on ignoring the real problem and grimaced.

Tony. Tony, his sweet, beloved child. Howard's efforts to ignore his problem were doomed from the start. After all, Tony was the birthday... child.

Howard resigned himself to tackling the issue head on and asked, "Is Tony ready?"

Maria had her head against his back, so even though he couldn't see her face, he felt her mouth become a sad smile. "Not really," she said, echoing his own answer.

Unable to help himself, he snorted. "Dress? Make-up? Both?"

Maria's sad smile slowly outgrew its sadness, as she replied, voice full of mirth, "Some of my red pumps, actually. Really quite cute."

"As strange as it sounds, I wish we were still in the '60s." Howard twisted around in those slender arms to face their owner, giving her a lopsided grin. "At least I'd be able to think of _somewhere_ Tony would fit in."

Maria's smile finally reached it's true brilliance, making him want to sweep her off her feet just for the sake of doing it. "It sounds to me like your next project is a time machine."

She'd meant it as a joke, but they both sobered up quickly as the sheer infeasibility brought reality crashing back down upon them, reminding them that they were failing Tony. They wanted to help their child, but they knew that the world wouldn't be very accepting. They did what they could, hoping every little bit helped — that trivial matters like a _perfect_ birthday would somehow solve the unsolvable.

Nothing had prepared them for their child. Sometimes, Howard would find himself pondering what-ifs. What if Tony was a normal boy? What if Tony had been born with a girl's body? What if they had never adopted Tony? It made him sick to his stomach. He hated that the world wasn't accepting of children like Tony, but even he struggled with the situation.

"Mom! Dad! I'm... I'm ready!"

Maria turned around to face the door, and Howard broke out of his reverie enough to glance up. Tony stood there wearing a red mini-skirt (_He must've stolen it Maria's closet_, Howard thought to himself.) as a makeshift dress. A thin, sparkly gold belt secured the top of the skirt across Tony's chest, keeping the hem off the floor. His little feet were planted in the red pumps Maria mentioned earlier; they were naturally too big, leaving careful shuffling Tony's only option for movement. Bright red lipstick haphazardly adorned his mouth, which bore a small, hopeful smile.

Howard's heart broke at the sight. Maria's clearly had as well, since tears flowed freely from her eyes as she lowered herself to her knees to envelope Tony in a fierce hug. The sweet, hopeful smile upon Tony's face began to quiver, tears beginning to flow from his eyes as well. "I'll change."

Howard surprised everyone, including himself, with a fervent, "No."

Tony's eyes widened, even as tears still flowed from them. "But you said I can't when guests will be here?"

"You're right. You can't when guests are here."

Tony murmured in wonder, "You'd send them away?"

_Ever the smart kid_, Howard thought to himself. "It's your birthday, Tony. Spend it..." Howard paused. The moment was only a hair's breadth long, but he needed it. _This isn't about what _you_ need, Howard. It's about what_ Tony_ needs._ "Spend it how you want to."

As his child crashed into his legs, hugging him as tightly as those little arms could, he knew he was doing the right thing. Maria never used words to express her love for him. When her slender arms surrounded him, he could feel her love. As Tony stood there, crushing Howard's legs with _her_ arms, her love felt like the sun itself.


	2. Chapter 01: A Forged Heart

**Invincible**

_Chapter One: A Forged Heart_

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. _Invincible_ is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.

Update (03/01/2014): I discovered today that ff-net mucked up my formatting more than I had previously realized, so I fixed it all today.

* * *

"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."

Oscar Wilde

* * *

**Friday, August 29th, 2003 09:32a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"Miss Stark, Miss Potts is here. She's heading towards the workshop."

Megan paused her welding briefly, a look of consternation crossing her face. "Jarvis what day is today?"

The smooth, robotic voice of her AI quipped back with a definite lilt of amusement, "Why do you ask questions when you already know the answers?"

"Shit." The workshop came alive as its owner flew into action. The metal Megan had been fusing together was left abandoned on a wheeled workstation, which had already begun steering itself out of sight. Megan had already taken a step aside where she met her metal wardrobe halfway and flung its chrome finish doors wide. She yanked her clothes off and threw them into a basket inside the wardrobe as metal arms snaked their way out of the packed contents, clothes fit for a press conference clutched in their three-fingered grasps.

"No shower, Miss Stark?" Jarvis asked, as Megan hastily donned her red undergarments.

"You said she's _here_, didn't you?" Her red, sleeveless blouse went on next. "Besides, I'm going to Afghanistan. I'll be drowning in my own sweat soon enough."

"And the flight over, Meg?" Pepper called out as she descended the stairs.

_She sounds happy,_ Megan mentally noted. Charcoal, white-pinstripe pants in hand, she began to sit down onto nothing, a wheeled chair skidding to a halt under her just in time. She pulled the bottom to her pant-suit on and replied, "It's my plane. They can get over it."

Pepper reached the door to the workshop and, after punching in the code, stepped through the unlocked door. "Your plane, which was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago."

Megan winced, remembering that Rhodey was flying over with her, and grabbed the proffered black boots another metal hand had procured from the depths of her closet. The boots would be warm — very warm — but it was the lesser evil compared to sand-induced chaffing; the tight fit, when worn under her pants, would stave off most, if not all, of the sand.

"I'll tell Rhodey I'm sorry when I get there. I'd forgotten, and... Well, it's my plane. It isn't leaving without me." She slipped her arms into the matching suit jacket, ready to begin the corporate dance. Obie had asked her to handle the demonstration, and while she ordinarily hated being in the public eye, he had been rather insistent. Camera shy or not, she did have a certain flair, and the Jericho presentation they had prepared was _all about_ flair.

"You should apologize about the awards presentation while you're at it." Another wince. "Megan, I have to run some things by you before you dash off into the desert."

Megan had already begun making her way to the red Audi R8 parked nearby, a red purse hanging off her shoulder. She turned back to face Pepper, a glazed look briefly flickering across her eyes, then answered, "The art collection is all yours, Pep, so do whatever you want about the Jackson Pollock. Tell MIT that there's a reason I did all my coursework online. Do you really need me to sign off continued funding for my mom's charity?"

Pepper didn't miss a beat. "It's overpriced, I'll tell them you said no, and yes, that's the legal world. How did you know what I was going to ask?" She was familiar with Megan's occasional glassy-eyed stare. Whenever she had that look in her eyes, it meant she was having a "moment of genius," as Megan liked to call them. Megan Stark was a special woman. Her genius allowed her to remember the forgotten, deduce the unknown, and fix the unfixable. Her secret kept her from being social, from being honest. Pepper could count on one hand the number of people Megan trusted with her secret and have one finger left.

Megan strode back over, graced the clipboard-bound contract with her signature, then began making her way to the Audi. "Jarvis has access to your docket. Ironically, I need you to do something for me too."

Pepper quirked an eyebrow. _Of course — she's a quick reader._ "I've got plans."

The sports car came to life as its owner pulled the suicide door shut. The wheels screamed as Megan hit the gas, rocketing the car forward. Before it got far, she twisted the wheel and sent the car power-sliding towards Pepper. Pepper panicked and moved to jump out of the way, but the car came to a screeching halt next to her before she had moved an inch.

The window slide down, and Megan stuck her arm out, a small box covered in white wrapping-paper and a gold bow in her hand. "I need you to have a good time on your birthday for me."

A small smile graced Pepper's lips as she took the present and softly thanked her. She didn't appreciate Megan's antics, but she knew there was love in them. Ever since Megan's parents died in the car accident, Pepper, Obadiah, James, and Happy had been her only "family." _Jarvis too_, Pepper thought to herself. But Jarvis was an AI, so he could be programmed to keep her secret. People were different; trust was needed if secrets were to be kept. One hand — On one hand, Pepper could count the people Megan trusted, the people she called family.

Her eyes alight with mirth, Megan slipped her red Oakley Pulses on. With her laughing eyes blocked from view by black tinted lenses, she called out, "I'll see you tomorrow!" and the Audi took off once more. The roar of the engine echoed through the workshop as the car made its way up the ramp. Eventually, the last whispers of the vehicle's presence vanished.

Pepper turned in surprise as a second chrome wardrobe rolled over to her. "Your gift, Miss Potts," Jarvis' smooth voice announced. She turned her eyes down to glance at the gift lying in her hands. Jarvis answered her unasked question, "Two parts."

She deftly removed the wrapping around the box and found earrings — each with a navy blue, diamond shaped gem set on silver wire hook. She reached to open the metal doors, already knowing what she would find within. Hanging inside was a beautiful, navy-colored gala dress — one she had been eying for some time. She put her face in her palm and shook her head slightly. "She's either stalking me or 'deducing the unknown' again." She smiled. "I'm not sure which I prefer."

* * *

**Friday, August 29th, 2003 10:20a, PST | Los Angeles International Airport, the Tarmac**

James Rhodes watched with a practiced scowl as the Audi R8 approached the plane and stopped near the stairs into the plane — where he was standing. Happy Hogan, who was waiting nearby in order to take the car back to Malibu, stepped forward and flipped the door up and open.

A sheepish grin plastered across her face, Megan stepped out of the car. "Sorry you two. Got caught up in work."

Rhodes smirked, shattering any pretense of anger gone. "You don't need to apologize, Meg. I'm your man."

She placed her Oakleys in her purse and strode up the stairs. Her grin took on a more humorous look as she said, "My _man_, are you? I'm not sure you're my type."

As she reached the step he was on, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. Rhodes accepted the gesture while rolling his eyes. "The last thing I want to discuss is your 'type.'" The two of them began to make their way up the rest of the stairs.

Rhodes entered the plane first, and before she crossed the threshold, Megan turned her head to glance back over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Happy. Not a scratch!" Happy chuckled and gave her a mock salute as the door shut.

* * *

**Friday, August 29th, 2003 11:05a | International Airspace, the Pacific Ocean**

"Megan — I need a word."

Megan looked up from her laptop and was immediately swept up by the intense look in Rhodes' eyes. She briefly glanced around the cabin and saw that the two of them were alone, the flight staff apparently occupied with other matters. She closed her laptop with a brief snap and set aside all thought of work for the moment. "What's up, Rhodey?" She had a suspicion but held her tongue and waited for confirmation from her longtime friend.

Rhodes said nothing for a moment as he collected his thoughts. He didn't like the notion of having this conversation, but it felt oddly important, so he plowed ahead. "When I put on this uniform, do you know what I recognize?"

Megan quirked an eyebrow as she gave said uniform a once-over. She smiled and quipped, "That three buttons is seriously old fashioned?" Rhodes sighed in frustration. _No dice,_ Megan noted. "Sorry. Just... Trying to lighten the mood."

Rhodes gave her a weak smile. "It might be old fashioned, but that's the point." He briefly paused. "Megan... When I put this uniform on, I know that other people wear it too. They're my comrades — they've got my back."

Her suspicion confirmed, Megan softly replied. "And you... You've got my back. You, Pepper, Happy, and Obie are _my_ comrades."

Rhodes nodded, glad she was following him. "The world knows you, but they don't _know_ you, Meg. You're more than what they think you are." Tears had begun to sparkle at the corners of her eyes, so he leaned forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I just wanted you to know that we're here for you — no matter what." Megan smiled, unable to help it. It always made her happy to think of her extended family.

The cabin door slid open, interrupting the moment. One of the flight staff, a young, blonde lady stepped through the open door and froze when she saw the two of them: Megan, with tears shimmering in her eyes and a smile on her face, and Rhodes, with his hand resting on her shoulder. Of course, she jumped to the wrong conclusion. "Sorry! I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." She swiftly fled back through the door, sliding it shut once more.

Megan laughingly quipped, "It seems _she_ thinks you're my type."

Rhodes groaned.

* * *

**Saturday, August 30th, 2003 04:42p, AFT | Somewhere in Afghanistan**

Megan awoke in a panic, her thoughts awhirl with the final moments before she fell unconscious. The last thing she remembered was looking at her chest, and...

_My chest!_

Her body ached all over, but she knew she had to tend to that wound — the gaping hole where some god awful weapon had carved its way into her flesh. It didn't matter where she was, at least for the moment. She had to tend to that wound, or she was going to _die_. Her will incensed by a burning desire to live, she commanded her arms to move. They burned with effort, but they eventually lifted up and moved to check her chest.

One did, anyway. Her left arm was stopped as it ran into a wire that her eyes, bleary from sleep and no energy, had not seen. The wire was only slightly jarred, but the movement was enough for to feel that it was connected to the area of her chest that had been injured. She tore her eyes from the ceiling of what appeared to be a natural cave formation and let her head flop to the left. The wire was connected to a car battery.

"Oh god," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"Miss Stark," a voice from somewhere to her right said. "It's nice to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Her eyes glazed over as she scrounged through her memories to place the voice. "Ho Yinsen?" Had she said that aloud? Her body was beginning to go into autopilot. "New Years Eve 1999, technical conference in Bern, Switzerland."

Yinsen chuckled. "Your memory serves you well, Miss Stark. Your lecture on integrated circuits was inspiring, especially from someone so young." Megan heard the scrape of a chair and footsteps approaching. "I'm sorry I couldn't do better with your wound. My tools are... limited here." She twisted her head to face upwards again and found Yinsen above her, his finger and eyes directing her attention to the wound in her chest. She followed his gaze and took in the sight.

Her blouse was gone, replaced with a loose fitting tank top that was tattered and dirty. Given its worn appearance, she concluded that it had originally been owned by someone else — a man, if the size and cut were any indication. A circular hole had been cut over her sternum, just above her breasts, exposing a cylindrical mass of metal. The wire (_Two wires_, she mentally corrected) from before were attached to the mass. _Red and black wires connected to a car battery? Is this thing..._

"An electromagnet?" she inquired aloud.

Yinsen nodded gravely. "I removed as much shrapnel as I could, but it wasn't nearly enough. The magnet is keeping them from entering your atrial septum. Without it, you would be dead within a week."

"That's my heart, right?" Megan was a genius, but anatomy wasn't her forte.

"It is."

"Wh–who attacked me? Why? Where are we?" She hadn't meant to yell at Yinsen, especially since he had apparently saved her life, but it was all _so much_. She needed to ground herself. She had been brought to death's door... _Oh god._ Tears broke free as she began to panic. "The attack — was I the only one who survived? Rhodey was in one of the other cars!" Had they only wanted her? Did that mean they had killed everyone else?

"Miss Stark!" Yinsen's voice pulled her back from the dark possibilities that had begun to race through her mind and coat it in fear. "Panicking is not a luxury you can afford, I am afraid. I will answer your questions as best as I can, but we have little time."

She wanted to scream at the world, to grapple with the heavens and force everything to be all right again. But she couldn't. She didn't know if it was Yinsen's warning that stopped her, or if her body simply didn't have the strength to muster up a good scream. "Tell me." She looked up and locked eyes with Yinsen. "_Please_."

For a moment, Yinsen said nothing, his eyes searching hers for something only he could see. He finally nodded, as if to himself, and spoke. "They call themselves the Ten Rings. I do not know why they attacked your... convoy?" He tilted his head slightly, the question lingering. When Megan affirmed his guess, he continued. "As for where we are, we are somewhere in Afghanistan. As your fellow prisoner, I'm afraid I don't have a more specific location than that."

"You said we 'have little time.' Why?"

Yinsen grimaced. "I was given explicit orders: 'Do not let her die.' I can only presume that they want to use you, Miss Stark." He pointed at her head. "They either want you for this." He moved his to point below her waistline. "Or for this."

Megan closed her eyes as the gravity of the situation became apparent. She remembered the chaos of the attack, the fierce, reckless disregard for the lives of her soldier escorts. They hadn't been cautious at all in their attack, nearly killing her in the process. While she couldn't rule out the possibility that they had intended to kidnap her, the odds heavily favored a more fortuitous scenario: a merciless attack and an unexpected discovery. The question was whether they wanted Megan Stark, the genius mechanic, or Megan Stark, a woman they could fuck. Yinsen was right — she didn't have time to panic over Rhodey and his comrades. Rhodey was a soldier, trained by the best and forged in the fires of war; he could have (_Would have!_ she fiercely amended) handled himself. She, however, was out of her league.

"Miss Stark... Regarding the second possi—"

Megan's eyes were open in an instant, locking onto Yinsen with a look of fear.

Yinsen hesitated under her scrutiny, but he pressed on. "Your clothes were haphazard when you were brought to me. I presumed the worst, but I have not checked. I wanted your permission first."

"Ah." Megan squirmed slightly but otherwise relaxed, her fear abated. "You don't need to worry. I'm infertile."

"I know."

The fear reared up in her again, stronger than before. It tore at her insides and compelled her to act. Her battered and weary body moved on its own, forcing her upright. Her hand wrapped tightly around Yinsen's dusty tie and pulled him down to eye level. "How?"

Yinsen, to his credit, was calm before Megan's fury. "How do I know? Or how do I want you to kill me?"

The second question broke her free from natural instinct, her hand limply falling to her side. Yinsen still stood at eye level, matching her gaze levelly. "The former. I am not a killer. But... if I don't like your answer." The rest was left unsaid.

Yinsen calmly replied, "Miss Stark, unless you have surgery to remove it, there will always be a risk of someone seeing."

"You said you didn't check."

"I didn't. Your pants were pulled taut around... it when they placed you on this table."

Megan's head snapped down and flushed a bright red at the sight. She immediately adjusted her pants to lay properly and muttered, "I should've worn a fucking skirt."

A faintly humorous smile played across Yinsen's lips. "Quite." He pulled himself upright once more. "I was referring to checking the... other option. Regardless, you are 'infertile,' as you so aptly put it, so the choice is entirely yours."

For the moment, however, the choice was neither of theirs. The doors to their makeshift cell/workshop slammed open and a guard gestured for them to come out and spoke to Yinsen in a language Megan couldn't place.

Yinsen moved around to the other side of the table Megan was on, picked up the battery, and handed it to her. "They wish to speak with you."

* * *

**Saturday, August 30th, 2003 05:18p, AFT | Hideout of the Ten Rings, Somewhere in Afghanistan**

A Jericho — they wanted her to build them the most destructive weapon Stark Industries had ever designed. And that wasn't even the worst revelation: they were using her and Obie's weapons. She had seen her company's label plastered on several dozen containers as the guards forcibly led her out of the structure, which was indeed a cave. It was everywhere in the little makeshift town outside the cave as well. Bombs, missiles, guns, ammunition — all hers — was stacked next to hovels filled with her captors.

Everything, all that had happened, had incited a crisis of identity in her. She had just wanted to build like her father and honor his memory, to protect her home from the terrors of the world. In truth, she had been the unwitting terror all along, staining her father's legacy with the blood of Americans. And Yinsen, though he had not meant any harm, had inadvertently challenged her femininity. Seventeen years — she had been Megan Stark, a girl, for seventeen years. Yet in one moment, just one instant where she had not had control of how she was sitting, her female image had been tarnished.

The guards had brought Megan and Yinsen back to their makeshift cell some minutes ago. Overwhelmed by her experience, her identity crisis, and her uncertainty of how to proceed, Megan had sat down in a chair, her elbows planted squarely on the table with her head in her hands.

"Who am I, Yinsen?"

"An interesting question," Yinsen replied as he dragged over a different chair and sat across from her. "I know you as Miss Megan Stark, a brilliant young woman with unparalleled inventive talent. These men know you as 'the most famous mass murderer in the history of America,' someone who can build them a weapon beyond their wildest dreams." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "These are the pieces of your legacy. Right now, your life's work is in the hands of murderers. Is that how you want your legacy to end? Or are you going to do something about it, Megan Stark?"

Her head still in her hands, Megan eyed the magnet that kept her alive — her metal heart. She drank in the sight and thought about her parents. It wasn't anything about the magnet in particular; their death was recent, just under two and a half years ago, and she still thought of them often. Her parents had always been protective of her, choosing to home-school her despite how busy work at Stark Industries was. Once, before she understood how unique she was, she had asked her father why they never let her leave their side.

* * *

"_Daddy, why are you and mommy always around?"_

_Howard looked up from his work and smiled at his daughter. "Do you know what the heart of our company is, sweetheart?"_

_Megan answered brightly, "The arc reactor, of course!"_

"_That's right, Megan. Do you know why?"_

_Megan was thoughtful for a minute, her young mind carefully considering the possible reasons. "It's a power source, so the company wouldn't work_

_without it?_

_Howard chuckled. "It _is_ a power source, but that's not why."_

_Megan was nonplussed. "Then why?"_

_Howard scooped his young daughter up into a hug. "The reactor is a promise of a bright future. The company wouldn't die without power, but it would crumble without that promise — without its heart."_

_He released Megan from his arms and kissed her gently on her forehead. "Your mother and I are always around you, Megan, because _you _are _our_ heart."_

* * *

"The arc reactor."

"Arc reactor?" Yinsen asked in confusion.

Megan grabbed some nearby pencil and some paper and began to sketch him a rough diagram of the machine. "Obie and I have one back home powering one of our factories. My father built it back in 1971. It took him and his team 12 years to make."

Yinsen glanced over the paper. "Ah, yes. I have seen this before. It's a very large machine." He looked up at her. "May I ask how this will help?"

"My father once called this reactor the heart of Stark Industries; it's a part of it's legacy." She picked up the battery that powered her magnet-heart. She locked eyes with him, her fire rekindled. "They damaged my heart. I need to fix it."

* * *

**Saturday, December 6th, 2003 11:08a, AFT | Registan Desert, Southern Afghanistan**

Megan stumbled across the burning hot sands, lost in thought and desperate to find shelter. The desert temperature had begun to heat the metal rim of the hole in her sternum, burning the surrounding flesh. There was no longer a battery in the hole; instead, it had been replaced with a miniature arc reactor. She silently thanked Yinsen for his help. She never could have made the reactor in that god-forsaken cave without his steady hands. He deserved thanks for more than the reactor, though. He had put himself on the line to help her prepare her escape plan, and he later sacrificed his life to ensure it would succeed.

It had been a risky plan, and she normally would have abandoned it in favor of something more secure. Time however, had been short in supply; they two of them had had to make do. She had always intended for her arc reactor to be a heart for more than just her.

* * *

_With steady hands, Yinsen carefully placed the palladium core Megan had prepared into the arc reactor. He examined it with curiosity. "What can it generate?"_

_Megan held her new heart in her hand, it's bright, blue light the same as the heart of her company. "If my math is right..."_

_Yinsen chuckled, "It always is, isn't it?"_

_Megan smiled. "Three gigajoules per second."_

"_That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes."_

_Her smile twisted into a smirk. "Or something big for fifty minutes."_

* * *

What they had built was, indeed, something big — a full-body, metal power suit. When Megan had finished the design and showed Yinsen what their freedom would look like, he jokingly commented, "So you're going to yourself into an iron woman." She had promptly corrected him (_It will _not_ be made of _iron_!_) but the name had made her giggle; it was certainly fitting.

The suit had been the risky part, and compared to it, the escape itself should have been smooth sailing. If she were superstitious, she might have believed such thoughts jinxed it. The time to escape came when the Ten Rings had finally grown too impatient to let them live. She had donned the suit and prepared to clear a path for her friend, but Yinsen knew the power-up sequence would take too long and had rushed out of the cave to buy her time.

* * *

"_No, stop!" Megan screamed at Yinsen as he rushed towards the doors that lead out of the cave. "Stick to the plan!"_

_Yinsen paused at the doors and glanced over his shoulder at her. "This was always the plan, Miss Stark."_

"_But... No! Don't you have a family to get back to?"_

_Yinsen gave her a rueful smile. "I'm from a small town called Gulmira. My family's graves are there — they are dead. I'm going to see them now. I _want_ this."_

_Megan stared at him and, in a broken voice, replied, "Thank you for saving me."_

_Yinsen knew he needed to move now if he was going to hold the terrorists off long enough for the suit to be ready. "Don't waste it. Don't waste your life."_

* * *

When the suit had finished powering on, Megan tore through her captors. And as she made her way out of the cave that had been her prison for over three months, she systematically destroyed all of their weapon stockpiles. She had refused to leave her company's weapons with those murderers. When the hideout finally laid in ruins, she fled into the skies. It had been one of the most liberating experiences in her life, second only to her sixth birthday, but it had also been brief. Her suit gave out on her, forcing her to crash-land somewhere in the desert. The suit, which had already been rather frail, understandably didn't survive the crash. Even if she had wanted to preserve the suit, she knew there was no way she could drag the pieces through the desert on her own.

So Megan abandoned the ruined suit, the precious freedom she and Yinsen had forged. And so she found herself stumbling across the burning hot sands, lost in thought and desperate to find shelter.

"_Your mother and I are always around you, Megan, because _you _are _our_ heart."_

"Yinsen... Thank you for saving my heart."

The sound of helicopters filled her ears; it was probably the most beautiful noise Megan had heard in her life. She yelled and screamed for help, waving her arms in a furious effort to be noticed. The crew did notice her, and they began to land. Somehow, she managed to wobbly cover the distance between her and the grounded helicopter, and as she reached the side door, it slid open to reveal Rhodes.

"Next time, you ride with me, okay?" Megan collapsed into his arms, tears streaming from her eyes.


	3. Chapter 02: Rising Up

**Invincible**

_Chapter Two: Rising Up_

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. _Invincible_ is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.

Update (03/01/2014): I discovered today that ff-net mucked up my formatting more than I had previously realized, so I fixed it all today. One extra story was tweaked, but it's not a major story change in the slightest.

* * *

"Your success and happiness lies in you. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties."

Helen Keller

* * *

**Saturday, December 6th, 2003 11:35a, AFT | Bost Airport, Lashkar Gah, Afghanistan**

Megan stirred from her sudden, unintended nap. She initially panicked, since she was surrounded by men with guns, but quickly identified them as U.S. Marines. She glanced upwards and found that her makeshift pillow had been Rhodes.

Rhodes, upon seeing Megan had awoken, smirked and inquired, "How was the nap, Sleeping Beauty?"

Megan blushed and pulled herself upright while she replied, "Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you." She looked out the window and noticed that they were over civilization and rapidly approaching the ground. "Where are we?"

"Bost Airport. It was the closest we could get to from where we found you. We're shipping you back home where you belong."

Rhodes had anticipated any of several responses. Megan being happy to go home, worried about work, falling asleep again... Hell, he wouldn't have been surprised if she had demanded to have an American cheeseburger. What he hadn't expected, however, was her reply, "Rhodey, I need to talk to you." She glanced at the other men in the helicopter. "In private."

Rhodes groaned and Megan blushed furiously as the rest of the craft's crew catcalled and wolf-whistled.

* * *

Megan studied the meeting room Rhodes had brought them to. If she was being honest with herself, she knew that true privacy was hard to come by after the P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act passed two years ago. They were in a foreign country, but she suspected that national boundaries were of little consequence, especially Afghanistan, which had been a hotbed of activity since the Towers fell.

Regardless, the room would have to do. "I need two things. One, I need hormones — badly. I've been having serious withdrawal symptoms."

Rhodes, to his credit, maintained perfect composure in spite of the sensitive subject matter. "Naturally. I'll see what I can scrounge up before we starting flying back."

Megan chipped in, "Estradiol is used to treat women who are post-menopause or otherwise suffering from a lack of estrogen."

He studied her, taking note of her condition. Megan had always been a bit petite, something he had chalked up to her reliance on hormone medication. Truth be told, however, he wasn't sure if he was right. She was his best friend, but he was definitely not an expert on trans* matters. Her short, pixie cut black hair was dirty and matted from her unwanted stay in Afghanistan, but otherwise, she had made it out clean — of injuries, at least.

"Okay. What's the second thing you need?"

Megan locked eyes with Rhodes, "We need to talk the future of my company."

Rhodes froze, caught off guard. "Wait, what?"

Megan steeled herself for the difficult, but necessary, conversation, "I want to change how we do business. As the military liaison to Stark Industries, I know you'll be affected, so I wanted to make sure I wasn't springing my plans on you. Just... please hear me out."

Rhodes grimaced. "Tell me what you had in mind."

* * *

Rhodes didn't know what to think. Stop making weapons? Stark Industries was one of the most, if not _the_ most, successful weapon-manufacturers ever. The idea of the company doing anything else was outrageous, at least from his perspective. _But her perspective matters too_, Rhodes mentally chided himself. Megan was the CEO, after all; her word was law within Stark Industries.

His initial reaction had been to dismiss her plans as the product of PTSD, but he had to admit that her position was well thought out. He disagreed with it, but that was his own, personal view.

"I think you're gonna make a whole lotta people back home unhappy, Meg."

Megan frowned. "It's inevitable, yeah. But..." She briefly debated whether to let him know her solution. It wasn't a tough decision. "Rhodey, there's something else. Something big."

"I doubt you could hit me with anything bigger than your company's new, humanitarian outlook on life. Spill."

Megan's frown slowly grew into a smile as she remembered the name Yinsen had branded her suit. "I don't want to say much, at least not here, but let's just say that I want to take a more personal role in world peace. I escaped from the Ten Rings because a friend and I built a suit." She leaned in, driving her point home. "A power suit. Armor that made _me_ the weapon."

Rhodey's eyes widened, both from the craziness of Megan's escape method and also the dawning realization of what she was really going to do. "You want to become a vigilante. A vigilante in a goddamn suit of armor."

Megan flushed at Rhodey's incredulity. "Don't look at me like I'm crazy, Rhodey. Yinsen and I built a suit that I used to destroy a terrorist encampment. We built that suit while rotting in a god-forsaken hell hole, and we did it right under the terrorists' noses." Her eyes lit up as the possibilities unfolded in her mind. "Just think what I can do back home."

Rhodes _did_ know what she could do without such terrible conditions. He knew that fire in her eyes. It was the same fire he saw when she first took over Stark Industries as CEO. He had been the military liaison to her father's company for a long time and had always seen her by her parents' sides. She was a genius, helping her father with projects from day one. As incredible as her idea was, he knew that she could make it reality.

"You know this puts me in a difficult position. What you're talking about doing is illegal, and the government is going to try to stop you and take that tech for themselves. They'll probably use me to do it."

Megan growled. "No. I can't trust them. Those terrorists had truckloads of my weapons. They didn't get that many in some accidental find; they were given them. It wasn't my company, and our biggest customer is the government." She took a deep, calming breath then continued. "I want to trust them, Rhodey; I really do. But until I know its design won't be stolen, I have to keep the government out of this. I _have_ to build this suit. I'm not going to sell weapons anymore, but that doesn't mean I've given up on world peace."

Rhodes was torn about what to say, so he settled for, "I need time to think about this. C'mon — let's get you home."

Megan followed Rhodes out of the room, worrying her lip. _Well, at least I told him beforehand. Better than springing it on him._

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 12:33a, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

_P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act, indeed,_ Director Fury thought to himself upon reading the transcription of what had transpired in a Bost Airport meeting room. It was only natural for them to have bugged meeting rooms in an Afghan airport.

He looked up from the paper file and fixed Agent Coulson, who had brought him the report, with a serious eye. "Get to LAX, and take Agent Romanoff with you. Give Miss Stark her father's strongbox. She's a strong candidate for the Avengers Initiative, Coulson. I want her on-board."

"Are we to force the issue, sir?" Coulson inquired.

Fury glanced over the report again, piecing together the puzzle of Megan Stark.

_Armor that made _me_ the weapon... Just think what I can do... I _have_ to build this suit. I'm not going to sell weapons anymore, but that doesn't mean I've given up on world peace._

"No. She just needs the right push."

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 09:42a, PST | Los Angeles International Airport, the Tarmac**

As Megan exited the plane, she took a deep breath of American air, her eyes closed in pleasure. _I'm finally home!_ she thought to herself as she opened her eyes to descend the stairs to the ground. She could only groan when she saw the black government car waiting for her, Happy, Pepper, and Obie nowhere to be seen.

The car doors opened, revealing a man and a woman. The man was clearly the older of the two, his brown hair having begun to recede, yet Megan had the odd feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. He wore the quintessential "secret agent" attire: a black suit, relatively plain tie, and an earpiece. The woman had dark red, curly hair that fell below her shoulders; but for her attire, Megan would have written her off as an average, albeit beautiful, woman. She wore a black one piece, front-zip uniform that covered her arms, shoulders, torso, and legs completely. Strapped around her waist was a utility belt with numerous pouches and a gun holster on her left, which was further secure by a second belt strapped around her thigh. She wore black, fingerless gloves that reminded Megan of driving gloves, and secured to each of her wrists were straps bearing numerous black cylinders.

The man spoke. "Miss Stark, my name is Agent Phil Coulson, and this is Agent Natasha Romanoff. We need to debrief you regarding your escape using the power suit."

Rhodes, who had begun to exit the plane behind Megan and carefully eyed the pair of agents. He wasn't terribly surprised to see them and suspected they had been sent by higher-ups in the federal government.

Megan ground out her response, "Five minutes. You people couldn't even leave me be for _five minutes_. Is Pepper here?" She had sent word ahead of her return and asked for both a ride home and for the driver to bring her meds. Rhodes had managed to locate some Estradiol for her, but as a transwoman, she needed more than just estrogen. She also needed Spironolactone, her anti-androgen. Together, the pills would suppress her naturally high testosterone levels and elevate her low estrogen levels. Without them, her hormonal balance wouldn't stay at those of a ciswoman, like Agent Romanoff.

Coulson answered, unrattled by the venom in Megan's words. "Miss Potts is with your bodyguard, Mr. Hogan. They've been temporarily detained by California highway patrolman until after we've debriefed you."

Megan began descending the stairs, despite her dread of the two at the bottom. "Well _undetain_ them. She has my medication, which I've been missing for over three months now." She reached the bottom of the stairs, her lips quirking into smile. It couldn't hurt to lay on some charm, right? "Please, Phil?"

Rhodes chuckled in spite of the seriousness of the situation, and Romanoff raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Coulson procured a bag containing two pill bottles from the black car and held them out to her. "We knew about your medical needs, so we brought some Estradiol and Spironolactone with us. The car, please, Miss Stark."

Megan stared at the pills in the bag then up at Coulson, who easily had half a head's height on her. Her nostrils flared in anger at the injustice of it all. More people knew her secret — _agent_ people.

She surged forward, covering the short distance between herself and Coulson in a flash, and snatched the bag. She examined the bag, confirming that Coulson had been telling the truth. Her eyes returned to Coulson's. "Debrief my escape, right?" Coulson nodded. "Rhodey wasn't there, so he can leave." It wasn't a question.

Coulson shrugged. "He will still be debriefed by the Marine Corps, but he doesn't need to be debriefed by us."

With a huff, Megan viciously tore one of the black car's rear doors open. "Then let's get this over with."

* * *

Coulson drove the car while Romanoff conducted the debrief. Megan told them the exactly what she had told Rhodes. It was obvious that they knew about the entirety of the conversation at the airport — they had made as much clear with their casual reference to her power suit and medication — so she saw no reason to lie. Coulson had taken the car onto the I405 and I10, and they were presently on state road 1; they were clearly taking her home. Megan hoped that Rhodes had had the foresight to call Pepper and Happy with an update.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Stark."

There had been no humor in Romanoff's words, but Megan wasn't fooled. _They have a very loose definition of cooperation,_ she thought to herself. "Is that all then?"

Romanoff, who was sitting in the back with Megan, fixed her with a _not even close_ look. "Regarding your plans to build the 'Iron Woman' —"

"No, no," Megan interrupted. "I'm going to build a power suit. It's... Without me..." She floundered for an explanation that didn't sound corny, but finding none, she met Romanoff's gaze and firmly explained, "_I_ am 'Iron Woman.'"

Coulson glanced at her briefly in the rear-view mirror before watching the road once more. He hadn't been able to help it. Her statement, while simple, had had intense fire in it. Coulson's mind rang with Director Fury's words once more: _She just needs a push_.

Romanoff gave nothing away. "Regarding your plans to build a 'power suit': Our boss asked us to deliver Howard Stark's strongbox into your possession. The contents should help in your endeavor."

Megan blinked. "My dad's strongbox?" She had been under the impression that she'd received all of his possessions when he died. "And you're going to... just give it to me."

A ghost of a smile crossed Romanoff's lips. "That is what I said, yes."

"But," Megan began, flustered. "I don't get it! What's the point of all this strong-arm nonsense? I thought you wanted to stop me, not help me!"

Agent Coulson smirked from up in the driver's seat and replied, "We wanted to let you know that we're serious, Miss Stark. You'll be monitored, of course, but you already knew that."

Megan's conversation with Rhodes briefly crossed her mind. _I definitely know now._

In a flash, he pulled a business card from heaven knows where and contorted his arm to hold it out to her. "My card. We'd like to cooperate with you on this, Miss Stark. Please don't hesitate to call if you have questions."

Megan numbly took the card from Coulson. _Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division? Somebody really wanted the acronym to be S.H.I.E.L.D..._ Having nowhere else at the moment to put the card, she tucked it into her bra. Romanoff raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

They reached Megan's home soon after. To Megan, it was a beautiful sight. _Home, at last!_ she thought fervently.

She opened the car door and moved to leave the car but stopped. After a moment's pause, she closed the door, settled back into her seat, and cast an inquiring eye on the agents.

"You said you wanted me to know you're serious. I know you are." She let her words sink in for a moment, then continued. "So be serious with me. You know about my... meds. You want me to 'cooperate' with you. It all sounds an awful lot like blackmail to me, Phil, Natasha."

Natasha said nothing, but Phil turned around in his seat to face her and responded, "I'm afraid there's nothing I can say or do that will reassure you. I'm sorry."

The three of them sat there for some time: Natasha, quiet and unmoving; Phil, apologetic but unyielding; and Megan, intense and searching.

"There's something _I_ can do though." And with that said, Megan opened her door and exited the car. The trunk popped open, revealing her father's container. She pulled it out and stepped back. She stood there, rooted to her driveway, and watched as the agents departed into the distance.

When the car had finally left her sight, she moved to go inside. Happy always parked his car in the driveway, since the garage was hers. The empty pavement meant that he and Pepper hadn't returned yet.

The front door opened itself for her, and as she entered, strong box in hand, Jarvis' smooth voice filled her ears. "Welcome home, Miss Stark."

"Sorry, Jarvis. I'm just here to grab some things."

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 11:22a, PST | Stark Industries, Press Conference Room**

Megan's heart was heavy. She had intended to have a press conference all along but only about the new direction she had planned for Stark Industries. In light of her contact with S.H.I.E.L.D., however, she had a second item on the agenda: revealing that she had been born male. This wasn't the first time she had entertained the idea of being more open about being trans*, but she had always decided against it. This was the new millennium, a digital age, and she was, unfortunately, a celebrity. She had always came to the conclusion that if she opened up too much, that the flood gates would open wide and the waters of pop culture would swallow her whole.

But the dam had begun to crack on its own. Yinsen was one thing, but S.H.I.E.L.D.? She couldn't trust her secret to them. Worse yet was _how_ the agents had known. She needed to face facts and head things off before someone else overheard something they shouldn't. There wasn't a way to resolve the matter without her secret coming out, but she could at least do it on her terms.

"This isn't exactly going to be formal, as you can tell." An understatement, since Megan had come directly to Stark Industries following her drive with Natasha and Phil. Her hair was still caked with grime, and she still wore the ripped and torn suit pants she had been wearing when the Ten Rings kidnapped her. She had exchanged the battered tank-top she had acquired in the cave with a solid red, button-up blouse, which was presently buttoned high enough to block her miniature arc reactor from sight. _One reveal is more than enough, thank you!_

The crowd chuckled at her joke, but the moment was brief. All eyes were on her again.

_God, I hate doing these things,_ Megan thought to herself. _Though it's nice to have my family here._ She had instructed Jarvis to make the calls for her: Pepper and Happy, Rhodes, Obadiah, and Phil. She had briefly debated the option of not calling Phil, but she knew S.H.I.E.L.D. would find about the conference anyway and had decided to extend them the small courtesy. _We'll be "cooperating," so we might as well be on friendly terms._

"I have two announcements to make today. I'm positive that you'll be interested in both of them, so please listen closely. I don't have time to repeat myself — I've got a bath back home with my name on it." Another wave of laughter came and went.

"I had many conversations with my dad, but there was one I never got around to: I wanted to ask him how he felt about what his company did... If he was ever conflicted — had doubts. On Friday, August 29th, I was in Afghanistan for a weapon demonstration. On our way back to base, my caravan was attacked by terrorists. I saw young Americans like me killed... killed by the very weapons I had created to defend and protect them. I realized that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability."

One of the reporters spoke out, "What happened over there?"

"I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately, I'm shutting down the weapons manufacturing division —"

The reporters began to excitedly murmur. Megan pressed on.

"— of Stark Enterprises until such time as I can decide what the future of this company will be. The direction it will take will be one I'm comfortable with and consistent with the highest good of this country and the world."

The questions began to fly as the reporters, ravenous for a good story, could no longer contain themselves. Obadiah, who had been standing off stage, began making his way towards Megan to begin damage control. Rhodes and Phil, who were both backstage with Pepper, weren't caught off guard by the announcement, since they had prior knowledge. Pepper had not, however, and was gobsmacked.

"QUIET!" Megan loudly called out, impatience evident on her face. The frenzy of activity cooled down to a simmer at her reaction but refused to die out completely. With the volume low enough for her to be heard once more, she continued her statement.

"That is my _first_ announcement." The reporters fell silent, not wanting to miss a single word.

"As I said before, I had many conversations with my dad. He, my mother, and I were close. We loved each other a lot." Megan's eyes began to lightly shimmer, but she refused to let herself cry in front of these people. She was giving them enough ammunition already. "Life can be harsh — force you to compromise where you you don't want to. The three of us made our own harsh compromise. It's why they sheltered me a lot when I was a kid, and it's why I'm making this second announcement." She took a deep breath and made the plunge. "My name is Megan Stark, and I am a woman who was born male."

Megan had already hinted to Phil about her intent, so he was unfazed by her announcement, but he was definitely the only one. Pepper dropped her clipboard, the attached paperwork scattering. Her hand had unconsciously risen up to cover her mouth, which still hung open from the shock of the first announcement. Rhodes and Obadiah were both rooted, unable to compel themselves to move from where they stood. The reporters practically exploded with shock and began to rush the stage while snapping pictures furiously and screaming out questions, many of which were incredibly inappropriate.

"Miss Stark, do you still have _it_?" " Stark, what is your _real name_?" "Miss Stark, are your breasts _real_?" "_Mister_ Stark, were your parents ashamed of your _condition_?" "Miss Stark, do you have sex _both ways_?"

Megan's face burned bright red with embarrassment at how awful the questions were, the indignation crushing down her heart. She wanted to leave, to just get out of there and go home, but her feet felt like they were made of lead — she was caught in the warpath of the frenzy she had incited.

Phil took stock of the situation and decided to act. He didn't like the way Megan was being treated, and nothing in his assignment precluded him from helping her end the conference. He bustled forward towards her side, mentally noting that the closest exit was in the backstage area where he had been watching. As Phil made his way to the podium, Rhodes finally managed to convince his legs to move again and swiftly followed Phil.

Megan was on the verge of losing the battle to stave off her tears when the two men reached her. They each placed a hand on her shoulder, one on each side, and Rhodes down to the mic to briefly say, "We're done here."

Megan gladly followed her two saviors, vaguely aware that Obadiah had finally come forward and begun damage control. When they reached Pepper, Megan stopped them briefly and whispered with a dead voice, "I'm sorry, Pep. I have to be AWOL a bit longer."

Pepper nodded unconsciously, still grappling with the gravity of what had just transpired, but the three of them had already started moving towards the exit — towards home.

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 11:43a, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

Obadiah had finally managed to disperse the conference reporters, giving them assurances ("_Megan's back, and healthier than ever!"_) and the rest of the bullshit he usually used to handle such debacles. He began making his way to his office in order to work on a long-term solution. His cell rang shortly after he had closed his doors to shut out interruptions. He glanced at the number and his lips curled into a wicked smile.

He answered it. "Did you find all of the pieces?"

"Affirmative," the voice on the other end replied.

"I want them here ASAP. Kill all of The Ten Rings." He hung up.

Obadiah had been frustrated when the terrorist cell had contacted him about their capture of Megan. He had arranged for them to attack her convoy, but he hadn't informed them _who_ they would be killing. Needless to say, they had upped the stakes on him. A hit on an American soldier caravan was one matter — Megan Stark was quite another. Opportunity had come to his doorstep, however, when The Ten Rings contacted him again, seeking his assistance in reconstructing Megan's escape method. Now, his men had secured the pieces to the marvelous machine, and they would soon be his.

_So you don't to build weapons anymore, Megan? Ironic — you've just given the world its greatest weapon ever._

* * *

**Sunday, December 7th, 2003 12:58p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

It had taken some effort, but Megan finally convinced Rhodes and Happy, who had been filled in on about what happened along the way, to let her be alone for the night. Phil had bowed out soon after they had gotten her home (_I'm afraid I have another assignment that I need to handle, Miss Stark._), and she had thanked him as profusely as she good for his impromptu rescue of her from the press conference.

With the house finally empty, Megan suddenly realized that she had no idea what to do. She had wanted — _needed_ — time alone, but she needed something to do while she thought. There was a reason why she constantly played music in her workshop while she built. She wanted to start work on the suit but couldn't bring herself to. Her heart wasn't in it. How could she build a suit like the one she had made with Yinsen if her _heart_ wasn't in it?

Unable to think of anything else, she pulled out her parents' old scrapbooks and took them into the living room. Before her parents died, she had rarely pulled them out, but since then, she had come to count them among her most prized possessions. Her mother had pieced the books together, so her handwriting adorned the pages within. It wasn't that her father wasn't sentimental — he assuredly was. But he had also been very busy, especially with his time divided between her and his work.

She flipped through the pages casually, a weak smile on her face as the memories in the photos helped dispel the dead feeling that had taken roost in her during the cataclysmic press conference. She didn't know how long it took her to work her way through all of the books. And it hurt. It hurt _so much_. She wanted to be in her mother's comforting arms, to hear her father tell her he loved and supported her. But they were dead. Nothing but photos remained.

The tears that had threatened to come all day finally broke free, and she wept into the night. She wept until sleep finally overcame her.

* * *

Megan woke up later that night, the sun long since departed. The unease in her heart still felt like an open wound, and the restlessness of her sleep had not recharged her at all. Her weary, tear-stained eyes fell on the albums, causing her to let out a choked sob. She had thought she was over relatively over the loss of her parents, but she had clearly been wrong.

"Mommy, Daddy... I miss you so much..."

"Miss Stark, you have an urgent message."

Megan blinked. She had forgotten Jarvis was even here, she was so lost in thought.

"I don't care — even if it's someone in the system. I am _not_ in the mood, Jarvis."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. My protocols are being overridden."

_Overridden?_ "What the hell are you talking about? Grow a spine, Jarvis! I am _so not_ in the _fucking_ mood!"

"Miss Stark, I know this is a bad time; I'm sorry for interrupting." It was Phil. She opened her mouth to demand that he stay the _fuck_ out of Jarvis, but Phil continued. "I'm leaving this message to remind you about your father's box. I've been assured that you'll be very interested in its contents, even at a time like this. Best of luck."

A recording then. _Right, that makes sense. Otherwise, Jarvis would've said "call" instead of message. _She played the message over again in her head when the exact words hit her. _Her _father's_ box._

She bolted from the living room and found the box was still by the door where she had left it earlier. She stared at it for a moment, as if it were a priceless artifact in a museum — something that ought not be disturbed. This box was her father's, and she had never seen it before. Having it didn't make their deaths any easier, but this, unlike the scrapbooks, was a fresh memory of her father. For the moment, that box was worth more than gold to Megan Stark.

Eventually, she worked up the nerve to handle the box and took it back into the living room. She laid it on the couch, released the twist locks, and flipped the lid open. Inside, she found a small mountain of papers mostly comprised of newspaper clippings and academic papers. Laying on top of the mound, she found a movie reel. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of it. _Is that a film of him?_

"Jarvis, do we have a player this will work with?"

"Yes. It is in storage locker 3."

"Unseal that locker. I'll be there shortly."

* * *

"_My child, you're too young to understand now, so I decided to record it for you. I built this for you. Someday, you'll realize that they represent much more than inventions of people. It represents the work of my life. This is the key to the future. I'm limited by the technology of my time, but... One day, you'll figure it out, and you will change the world. You'll make it a better place, one where everyone is free to be themselves, like you are always trying to be. You are my greatest creation. Your mother and I will always be in your heart. Remember: We will always be proud of you. We will always love you."_

* * *

As the film ended, Megan realized that her tears had returned, but that there was something different about them. Before, they had come as she mourned the loss of her parents, but now it was different. She could practically feel her mother's arms embracing her as her father's words comforted her.

The diorama of her father's "City of the Future" stood nearby. He had built it for the 1984 Stark Expo, back when she was just four and still "Tony." Her father had been standing by it in the film; it was the key he had mentioned. Megan walked over to it and stood there — stood there in the same spot where he had proclaimed his pride and love for her.

"_This is the key... One day, you'll figure it out, and you will change the world. You'll make it a better place."_

"The key..." Megan gently toyed with one of the diorama's small buildings, smiling softly as she remembered playing with the same building as her father filmed nearby. She cast her eyes over it, drinking in the image of the city he had wanted to build.

She froze. _This isn't a city._

Megan's eyes glazed over as she analyzed the buildings, roads, gardens, stands... Putting together the pieces of the puzzle her father had made for her. _Is this a blueprint for an element?_

"_I'm limited by the technology of my time."_

Her hand grasped at the arc reactor in her chest. It had been her father's design; she just miniaturized it. Her model, like his, contained a palladium core. She hadn't thought about it until now, but using a palladium core was a seriously bad idea for her. Palladium poisoning would become a very real possibility over time and would ultimately kill her if she didn't find a substitute. She gazed over the diorama once more. Would her father's theoretical element work as a substitute for her?

"_Is that how you want your legacy to end? Or are you going to do something about it, Megan Stark?"_

"Mom, Dad, Yinsen — this is _not_ how it's going to end."

* * *

**Monday, December 8th, 2003 12:03p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Rhodes pulled into Megan's driveway and sighed when he saw one of the agents from yesterday. He might have been okay with the guy who had helped Megan retreat from her press conference, Megan had apparently taken a liking to him, but instead, it was the red-headed who had been decked out in super spy attire. Thankfully, she was dressed in casual wear today: a yellow jacket over a red blouse with black pants and heels.

He parked the car and hopped out. _May as well try to be civil. _"May I ask what you're doing here, Agent... Romanoff?"

"I'm here on assignment, Lt. Colonel."

"And how long have you been standing here waiting to get in?"

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. "To get in? No. On you."

That caught his attention. These people had known exactly when and where Megan's plane would land and whose arrival they needed to delay. If they knew all of that, then they surely knew where he lived. Yet she had met him here, at Megan's, rather than his own home. That could mean a number of things, but the most likely was that she needed him to do something here — something that almost certainly involved Megan.

He needed more info to be sure, so he calmly asked, "And how is Megan?"

Natasha smirked. "Yes, I've been in to check on her, and yes, I need you to do something for me; more precisely, Megan does."

Rhodey stiffened. Had he really been so obvious? Or was she just that good at reading people? _I guess the spy suit was for more than good looks._

Natasha continued, "Megan is fine; see for yourself."

Rhodey's eyes narrowed. _Fine? After yesterday? No, she's playing me._ "Jarvis," he called out. "Did Megan let Agent Romanoff into the house earlier?"

"Good day, Mister Rhodes. Miss Stark did not allow Agent Romanoff into the house earlier, but she did speak with her after Agent Romanoff bypassed my security protocols."

Rhodey blinked, caught off guard. He had honestly thought she was trying to exploit him in order to access the house.

"Are we done playing games, Lt. Colonel?" Natasha quipped. "She wants you to install her new 'heart.'"

Clearly outclassed, Rhodes gave up and opened the door without a word.

* * *

The stairs descending into Megan's basement weren't lit when they reached them, so Rhodes asked Jarvis to turn on the lights. As they flickered on, illuminating the spiral stairway, he heard Megan loudly complain from downstairs, "Jarvis, what the hell! All night, remember? Nap time!"

"My apologies, Miss Stark, but Lt. Colonel Rhodes is here to see you regarding the installation of your new arc reactor."

Rhodes reached the bottom of the stairs, punched in the door code, and entered the workshop. "Your arc reactor, huh? That makes a lot more sense. Agent Romanoff said you wanted me to install your new heart."

He looked Megan over, and was pleased to see that while she was clearly drained, she nevertheless looked worlds better than yesterday. She was cleanly showered and had purged her hair of mats, but most importantly, her voice was free of the soul-crushing depression it had had yesterday. In fact, she looked more like herself than ever: she wore a pair of old, but well maintained dark red yoga pants; a short-sleeved, black zip-up hoodie, which was unzipped enough that her arc reactor was clearly visible; a pair of plain black sandals; and, last but not least, her faded gold work gloves and goggles. This was Megan Stark in her element: Queen of the Gear Monkeys.

Megan glared at Natasha as she pushed the goggles off her eyes and onto her forehead. "I swear to God, you S.H.I.E.L.D. people act like you own my fucking house."

Natasha shrugged and leaned against the wall next to the door.

Megan turned her attention back to Rhodes. "It _is_ my heart. It keeps the shrapnel in my chest from entering my anatomical heart and killing me."

Rhodes was shocked. He had seen the reactor when his team had found her in the desert, but this was the first time she had explained why it was there. "Right. That makes sense." He glanced at the extra arc reactor that laid on the worktable Megan had working at. _Or had she been snoozing?_ "And that's the new one then?"

Megan nodded. "My old one is dying out. If it had just been powering me, then that it would still have been fine, but it was the power source for the suit in Afghanistan as well." She picked up the new reactor, showing it off with pride evident in her eyes. "This bad boy was designed from the ground up with the intent to have an exchangeable core."

"Is that why the core is triangular instead of circular?"

"Nope. It's actually a new type of core altogether." She pointed at the reactor on her sternum. "Yinsen and I made this one a Palladium core, like the one my dad built at Stark Industries." Her finger moved to indicate the reactor in the palm of her other hand. "I made this one with a new element. My dad..." She paused for a moment, her eyes shimmering. "My dad left me a hidden blueprint for how to make it." Her lips quirked up into a real smile. "He's still taking me to school."

Rhodes looked on in appreciation. Discovering a new element was seriously impressive, especially given how torn up she'd been when he left yesterday. _Is this why she's feeling better? Solving the puzzle her dad left for her?_ "What're you gonna call it?"

Megan blinked. "Err, to be honest, I hadn't thought about it. I was to busy constructing the array to build it and then the new reactor to house it." She began tapping her index finger against her chin. "Starkanium?"

Rhodes chuckled, making Megan blush. "You can work on it later. How do I install this thing?"

As Megan explained the swapping process, Natasha made a mental note to report Megan's successful creation of the element. According to S.H.I.E.L.D. file, Howard Stark made the film in the strong box back in 1984, but even as technology moved forward, he'd still been unable to make it. His daughter made it in one night. Granted, her tech was two years farther along than her father's, but it really wasn't that big of a leap. The real reason for her success was clearly that her mind was simply better. Howard Stark was a genius. What did that make Megan? This had been Director Fury's test: could Megan make herself into something more? She clearly had.

* * *

"Did you really have to make that into something provocative?" Megan muttered, as Rhodes began inserting the new arc reactor.

"Meg, you were only wearing a bra under that hoodie! The cleavage was one thing, but that was ridiculous. You're lucky you're not my type."

Meg grinned. She knew his type, all right. He only played with his "team," after all.

As soon as the reactor was set into her chest, she gasped. Rhodes took a step back in panic. "Are you okay? Did I put it in wrong?"

"No, no!" she moaned in ecstasy. "It's just so _good_! I feel like a million bucks!"

It was Rhodes' turn to grin. "You _are_ a billionaire."

Meg laughed, "Oh, whatever!" She turned her attention to a nearby monitor and cracked her knuckles. "Jarvis! Let's build a suit!"

"I thought it was 'nap time'?" Natasha chipped in.

"Million buuucks, 'Tasha." Meg stuck her tongue out at the agent playfully.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at the moniker but said nothing. Her assignment had been to check on Megan's progress with the new core and, if she had successfully made the new element, help her with installing it. She'd found the gear monkey snoozing at a worktable when she broke in earlier. The new arc reactor was on the table next to her, so she woke Megan up to ask if she needed help getting it in.

"_Yes, but only people who know how to use a _god-forsaken doorbell_ are qualified to handle my heart! Now let me sleep until Rhodey or Pepper gets here."_

And so she had waited for either of Megan's friends to arrive and install the reactor. Her assignment was complete now, but it seemed her patience would be rewarded with a bonus. Natasha relished the prospect of surprising Fury with intel about Megan's suit, so she decided to stay. _I don't have to be anywhere else right now, anyway._

* * *

Megan intently studied the hologram of the original suit, examining the blueprint she had replicated from memory. Finally, she nodded to herself.

"Jarvis, label this as 'Mark I,' and save it. Copy to new project file, index as 'Mark II.'"

"Too lazy to move your fingers, ma'am?"

"Shush, you. I'm creating."

Rhodes and Natasha watched with no small amount of humor as Megan began altering the hologram while engaged in banter with her AI. She flicked some parts away, stretched or moved the remaining ones, and added to the hologram display.

"Yes, that's it!"

The bystanders examined the completed hologram. The original armor had been bulky, simple, and boxy, but the new armor was sleek, intricate, and curvy. It had an air of feminine class that the other one had not, but would it function at least as well as the old suit? Could she even make this one? The idea seemed too fantastic, but this was Megan Stark's bailiwick — making the impossible possible. She had miniaturized an arc reactor and made a new element in a single night; her chest bore the proof.

Megan's stomach rumbled as if to say, _You can't start this on an empty stomach!_

Her cheeks tinged pink, she muttered to herself, "Right. Food. Still human." She turned to head upstairs to the kitchen and froze at the sight of Rhodes and Natasha. She had clearly forgotten they were even there.

Natasha laughed, quite possibly the only time Rhodes and Megan had ever seen her summon up more than a smirk. "Yes, you're still human, Stark." She picked herself up from where she had been leaning against the wall and exited the workshop, calling back over her shoulder, "You can work on becoming invincible later."


	4. Chapter 03: Eyes of Iron

**Invincible**

_Chapter Three: Eyes of Iron_

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. _Invincible_ is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.

Update (03/01/2014): I discovered today that ff-net mucked up my formatting more than I had previously realized, so I fixed it all today.

* * *

"When you are old and gray and full of sleep,

and nodding by the fire, take down this book,

and slowly read, and dream of the soft look

your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep."

William Butler Yeats

* * *

**Monday, December 8th, 2003 11:03p, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

Obadiah barely restrained his glee as he surveyed the armor his men had recovered from The Ten Rings. The team he'd sent to Afghanistan had just returned from the airport and was unloading the precious cargo they had smuggled into the U.S.

The captain of the team noticed Obadiah and walked over to him. "This is all of the remnants, sir."

"Take everything and set up in Sector 16 underneath the arc reactor. Analyze, recreate, and improve it. Recruit our top engineers. I want a prototype right away."

* * *

**Friday, December 12th, 2003 03:13p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"Okay, Jarvis. Activate hand controls. We're gonna start up nice and easy: 10% thrust capacity to achieve lift.

After Natasha had left the day before, Megan had hurriedly gulped down some food (_So much better than the shit the Ten Rings gave me..._) and gotten started on the Mark II. She hadn't gotten much done, however, before she finally collapsed into sleep. She had hardly slept the night before then, in light of her haste to synthesize the element her father had theorized about and her recent abduction. Her new heart had definitely left her with more energy, but her natural body had won out in the end. That morning, she had awoken in her bed rather than the workshop, where she had fainted while piecing together the repulsor tech she would use for the suit's flight and main weapons. She suspected Rhodes had carried her upstairs, but she couldn't honestly remember if he stayed after Natasha left. Megan hadn't meant for Natasha — or Rhodey, for that matter — to see the Mark II design. She didn't trust the spy, and while she trusted Rhodes, he had asked her to give him time before dragging him into her schemes. Still, Rhodes could have left if he wanted, so really, it was his decision.

"_You can work on becoming invincible later."_

Okay, Natasha was good for motivation, at least.

"My first steps, figuratively speaking, towards invincibility, Jarvis. This is one for the scrapbook! Going in 3... 2... 1..."

The repulsor fiercely blasted her up and backwards into the ceiling above her nearby Audi R8 — which she promptly crashed into when gravity took over. "Ow."

"I've saved the video file in your scrapbook for 2003, ma'am."

"Fuck you, Jarvis."

* * *

**Monday, December 15th, 2003 07:42p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"Megan, I've been buzzing you," Pepper called out as she descended the stairs into the madness of Megan's workshop. "Didn't you hear the intercom?"

She answered her own question when she reached the bottom and saw that Megan had a wireless headset over her ears as she she worked on a circular device the size of her palm that Pepper couldn't identify. _You'd think she would program the intercom to override the music,_ Pepper thought to herself as she punched in the door code. _Then again, maybe the point is to _not _hear the intercom._

Pepper resigned herself to physically getting the black-haired genius' attention, but as she approached, Megan finally finished whatever she'd been doing and stood up while attaching it and another like it to her wrists. As she turned to the side to give herself room to place two more on each of her feet, she saw Pepper.

"Oh hey, Pep. Everything's fine. Nothing amiss." A brief pause. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Guilty conscious, Meg?"

"No, habit. I'm usually in trouble when you come down here."

Pepper rolled her eyes then turned her focus to the devices on Megan's extremities. "I thought you said you were done making weapons."

"Weapons? Nah. They're just flight stabilizers — completely harmless." She took a step towards the area she'd set aside for flight testing and promptly flipped into the air, as the repulsors on her feet flared to life for a brief moment, and landed in a tangled heap on the floor.

"I didn't expect that."

Pepper smothered a giggle with her hand. When she had herself contained, she mentioned, "Obadiah is upstairs waiting for you."

Megan miraculously extracted herself from the floor and slid the repulsors off. "Let's head up then."

* * *

The two of them made their way upstairs and found Obadiah playing music on her grand piano.

Megan's eyes became glassy as her ears put a name to it. "Antonio Salieri's Piano Concerto in C: _Larghetto_."

Obadiah ceased playing as he observed, "Sharp ears, Megan. It's too bad you didn't put some of your sharpness to use before you made your big speech."

Megan frowned. "Obie? I know I sprang all of that on you, and I'm sorry for that. We were supposed to be defending our country, not killing it. We have to stop blindly making weapons when they're ending up in the bad guys' hands."

"Stop making weapons?" Obadiah laughed darkly. "Megan, we are _iron mongers_. Making weapons is what we do."

He stood up from the piano bench and began to stride towards the women. "I knew that leaving you as CEO position was the wrong decision, but Howard would hear nothing of it. I had to settle for harvesting your golden eggs while I bided my time. And now, I don't have to pretend anymore."

As he reached Megan, he held out some paperwork. Megan snatched it from his grasp, and her eyes hastily analyzed it. The board of directors for Stark Industries had elected for him to depose her as head of the company. Megan growled in anger and Pepper could only watch in shock.

Megan brandished the papers at him like a sword, waving them threateningly. "What the fuck, Obie! I trusted you!"

"How? Why?" Pepper stuttered out.

Obadiah's directed a savage smile at Megan. "Even if you hadn't given up on making weapons, you were out. The board wasn't about to let our company's good name be tarnished by a _shemale_."

_Slap!_

Obadiah stumbled backwards under the force of Megan's livid backhand. A red, hand-shaped mark covered the left side of his face.

"Get the fuck out of my house before I _make_ you leave."

Obadiah briefly contemplated retaliating but ultimately decided that his seizure of the company was sufficient revenge. He left without a word, a dark smirk upon his face, leaving the two women.

They stood there for a time, both frozen in place and unsure of what to do.

"_I had to settle for harvesting your golden eggs while I bided my time."_

Megan's dropped the paper file, her hand suddenly weak. _Did he try to have me killed in Afghanistan?_ she wondered. It was just speculation, certain facts lining up, but it was too coincidental for comfort. _He argued with Dad about making me CEO, 'bided his time,' insisted that I do the Jericho demonstration..._ She needed to know. She had to get proof. The source that most likely had it would be difficult to reach — his laptop. Other possibilities existed, but none were as likely, and she seriously doubted that he would have multiple copies of any proof of wrongdoing.

_But how to get it,_ she pondered. _Rhodey would be out of place, and if Pepper or I go, then he'll know something is up_.

Her eyes widened. She knew some people who were _very_ good at getting information they shouldn't.

"Pepper." Megan hadn't spoken loudly, but in the silence following Obadiah's departure, her voice sounded deafening. "I have work to do. Please go home."

* * *

**Monday, December 15th, 2003 10:44p, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

Obadiah gazed over the metal monstrosity before him, savoring the view. He had just returned from Stark's house and was feeling victorious. His team of engineers had nearly completed the task he had set them to a week ago: a prototype power suit of his own. It was tremendous, towering over the reassembled pieces his men had recovered from the Afghan desert.

_With this, I will _revolutionize _the arms market!_ He chuckled darkly to himself as he envisioned the look on Stark's face when _he_ saw. _That freak of nature could never appreciate this marvel._

"Mr. Stane?" One of the engineers from the project approached him cautiously. "Sir, we've explored what you've asked us, and it seems that there's a little... hiccup."

Obadiah fixed the engineer with a smoldering stare. "A hiccup?"

The engineer cringed but continued. "Yes, to power the suit... Sir, the technology actually doesn't exist. So it's —"

Obadiah's eyes took on a maniacal gleam. "Wait, wait — the technology?" He gestured wildly at the arc reactor above them. "Here's the technology. I've asked you to simply make it smaller."

Sweat began to accumulate on the engineer's forehead. He nervously swallowed and responded, "Yes, sir, that's what we're trying to do, but honestly, it's impossible."

Obadiah erupted, losing all sense of control. "That _shemale_ was able to build this in a cave! With a box of scraps!" He'd seen it in Stark's chest with his own eyes, and The Ten Rings' description of Stark's escape had made it clear the suit was powered by it.

The entire team stopped what they were doing and stared at their boss, caught off guard by his anger and crudeness. Even those among them who didn't like Stark were astounded at the obvious pettiness.

The engineer who had been the target of Obadiah's ire didn't know what else to say than, "Well, I'm sorry. I'm not Megan Stark."

* * *

**Monday, December 15th, 2003 08:21p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Pepper had been reluctant to leave, but Megan eventually shuffled her out and called Phil, her only direct contact in S.H.I.E.L.D.

He answered nearly instantaneously. "This is Coulson."

"Phil, it's Megan. I need to ask you for a favor."

"What can I do for you?"

"I need to... access sensitive information on a private PC. Sound fun?"

Phil didn't miss a beat. "Fun is my middle name."

In spite of her anger over Obadiah's treachery, Megan giggled at his joke. She wished she had been there to see him say it. "Just like that? You're too sweet, Phil honey." She decided that she liked this game. Phil was a lot more fun than Natasha.

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint. Obadiah, right?"

_How the fuck?_ "I love it when you're being mysterious."

"I'm glad to hear he loved his new watch. I was relieved I could find one that looked just like it."

_Right, begin surreptitiously checking everything for bugs ASAP. _"You're the best, Philly. Toodles."

"Have fun tailoring your suit."

She hung up. _Tailoring? Really? Maybe he should say his middle name is 'pun.'_

She began the descent into her basement. _I'm finishing the suit tonight._

* * *

Megan hovered wobbly through the air of her workshop, suspended by her repulsors. It turned out that her repulsors had been perfectly designed from the start; the trick had all been in not overdoing the thrust.

_Hell yeah. I can fly! _she thought to herself, as she steered away from her antique cars, not wanting to damage them like her Audi.

"Jarvis, what's the status on the automated assembly line? Is the rest of the suit ready?" The repulsors had been the part of the suit that she had needed to attend to personally. The Mark I had worked well enough in Afghanistan for her to get a proper idea of what needed to be tweaked. Her time flying, however, had been too short to get enough data about functionality.

"It is. At the risk of being ignored, may I suggest that you perform more tests before test driving the completed Mark II?"

"Consider yourself ignored. Let's suit up."

The door to a room adjacent to the workshop opened up, revealing the newly constructed, silver-plated Mark II secured to a portable dock that made its way into the main workshop. Megan removed the repulsors strapped to her extremities and secured them into the silver machine. Without further ado, she stepped into it.

"Engage heads up display and import all preferences from home interface."

"Will do, ma'am."

The inside of her faceplate burst into life, indicating the suit's status, her life support levels, Jarvis' upload into the suit, and so on.

Once the screen indicated the transfer was complete, she asked, "Are you in here, buddy?"

"I have indeed been uploaded, ma'am. We're online and ready."

"Then let's fly."

"Ma'am, regarding your insistence on skipping the diagnostics and data calculations..."

"Jarvis — sometimes you gotta run before you can walk. Ready? In 3... 2... 1..."

She burst into movement, flying out of the basement workshop through the spiral entrance she used for her cars. Once she reached the world outside, she increased velocity and burned through the skies like a man-made meteorite.

"It feels like a dream..."

It was liberating. It was empowering. It was everything she'd dreamed of. As she cruised through the skies, testing the suit's handling, the people who had helped her reach where she was brushed through her thoughts. She thought of the good she could do, and the people she needed to protect.

"_One day, you'll figure it out, and you will change the world. You'll make it a better place."_

This was the first step. With the suit, she could defend her nation and the people she cared about in it. And eventually, she would change people's perception of trans* people like her. She would show the world that the only person they had to be was themselves. No compromises and no exceptions.

She twisted in the air, steering the suit up into the atmosphere. Tonight, she was invincible.

"Ma'am, there is a potentially fatal build-up of ice occurring."

Well, maybe not tonight.

_I might not be able account for every weakness, but I'll be damned if I can't fix them. I can _make_ myself invincible._

* * *

**Tuesday, December 16th, 2003 12:08p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"This is Coulson."

"Phil, honey, how goes the hunt?"

"It's awfully loud over there. What's all of that noise?"

"Don't change the subject on little ol' me now.."

"Your timing is good. I just made it to your house to review what I found."

"It's a date. Ciao, darling."

Phil hung up his phone, wondering why Megan had sounded like she was going through a wind tunnel. He strode up to her door and considered overriding her security but decided against it. She hadn't given the impression that she'd be long, so civility won out.

As he turned around to lean against the door, a blur slammed into the ground before him. In a flash, his training took over, and he whipped his gun out before him.

The blur had been Megan, encased in a red and gold variation on the Mark II. Her faceplate flipped up and back, revealing her face and the lopsided grin that graced it. "It's rude to point guns at people, you know, Philly."

Phil had to admit, he was impressed. He had known she had it in her to build a new power suit like the one she used to escape her captors, but he hadn't expected her to complete it in so little time. She had only been home for a little over a week, yet she had already made good on her threat. He would be seriously surprised if Director Fury didn't bring her in as a part of the Avenger initiative; at the very least, he would want access to her brilliant mind in some way.

He holstered his gun and gave her a dry smile. "I'd ask you to exchange notes with me, but it's pretty clear what you've been up to. Let's head inside — living room?"

"It's a date." She winked. "Jarvis, we've got a guest who didn't break in. Show him some hospitality while I store the suit?"

"Of course, ma'am."

Megan gave Phil a mock salute, and pushed off into a hovering position as her faceplate snapped into position, its blue eye slits alight. She blasted up into the sky where she twisted backwards in a loop, eventually swooping down to a position level with the ground and propelling forward into the helix entrance down into her workshop.

The corner of Phil's mouth twitched slightly upward. "Show off."

He turned on his heel and strode towards the front door, which opened itself for him.

"Good afternoon, Philly," Jarvis' cool voice intoned as Phil stepped into the residence.

Phil groaned. _Of _course_, she programmed her AI to do it too._

* * *

Megan came up shortly after, clad in the same gear monkey attire she'd worn when she created the design for the Mark II, though she'd left her goggles in the workshop. She had thoroughly enjoyed testing her new Mark III armor, which had been made using a gold-titanium alloy as the base metal in order to avoid another ice debacle but still maintain the appropriate power-to-weight ratio. Phil was seated in the living room in one of her white arm chairs, reading over something on a tablet computer in his hands. Megan briefly wondered whether it was one of the crummy models that populated the small market for them, but she figured that S.H.I.E.L.D., being some sort of spy agency, would only use tech that was legitimately good.

_Only the best for the Strategic Home— God, they really need a better name._

She turned her attention back to Phil. _The game is afoot._ "Aw, Philly, an arm chair? It's so much easier to tease you on a couch."

Phil deadpanned. "I know, Miss Stark."

She gave a mock pout as she plopped into the recliner next to him, crossing her legs so her top leg brushed up against his left leg. "Dazzle me, honey."

Phil procured photos from inside his suit jacket and passed them to her. Megan glanced over them: They were pictures of a desert town and featured distraught women, men, and children held captive by men with Stark Industries weapons.

"We successfully extracted the data stored on Obadiah Stane's PC. We found shipping manifests that indicate Stark Industries has been selling to the U.S. and terrorists alike."

Megan was seething. It was one thing to suspect Obadiah of backdoor dealing with the enemy and another matter to have proof of it. "Where is this? Who are the armed men?"

"Gulmira, Afghanistan and The Ten Rings. The last remaining members of them, it appears; an entire base near where you were held captive was filled with corpses. Director Fury has already given you the go-ahead for a rescue mission and for you to take part, provided the suit was ready."

"_I'm from a small town called Gulmira."_

Megan locked eyes with Phil, Yinsen's sacrifice forefront in her mind. "'The go-ahead'? I'm going there to stop this madness, regardless of what your boss thinks."

"Of course," Phil coolly retorted.

Megan made to get up, but Phil cut her off, saying, "Before you go, there's more intel. We found a video from The Ten Rings to Stane on his computer. It clearly indicates that Stane paid them to assault your caravan in Afghanistan."

Megan searched his eyes for a moment and, seeing no sign of deception, replied, "Your secret club can help with Gulmira, but that prick is _mine_."

"I'm sure we can sort out the details."

Megan stood, her eyes still on Phil. "Thank you for your help, Phil."

"My pleasure, Megan."

Megan smiled at his use of her given name. It was the first time he'd done so, and she knew that meant something. For him, this _was_ business, but it was also _personal_.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 09:02a, AFT | The skies over Gulmira, Afghanistan**

The gray VTOL swiftly blazed through the skies of Afghanistan as Phil stood in the short passage between the pilots' seats and the rear of the vehicle, briefing their team of four operatives prepared for insertion into Gulmira.

"This is a straightforward hostage rescue. The area is too open for parachute-entry, so we'll go in low. We'll be grounded for three seconds, more than enough for you to get out. The drop zone will be kept clear with cover fire both while grounded and once airborne. You will be supported by an armored unit, codename Iron, on the ground. There will be crates of Stark Industries weapons stashed intermittently throughout the village; Iron will be evaporating them, so stay clear of them."

He raised his finger to his earpiece. "Did you get all of that, Iron?"

The team's earpieces came alive with Megan's indignant voice, "You're ridiculous. Can you really not say 'Iron Woman,' Philly?"

The operatives choked back their laughter at the 'Philly' remark. _Who _is_ that?_ they all wondered to themselves.

Phil's lips merely twitched into a ghost of a smile, as he quipped, "Iron is shorter." He turned around to glance at the control panel. "We're a minute out. Deliver the party invitation, Iron."

"Oh, Phil, darling — I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Megan slammed to the ground in Gulmira, sending dust flying. Her HUD pinpointed the men with weapons, and she assessed the situation. Several armed men stood nearby in a half circle around what could only be described as an execution: a trembling man on his knees, a rifle barrel held to his head.

Megan wasted no time and sent the would-be executioner flying with a well-aimed repulsor blast. In a flash, she was over their victim, shielding him as she blew back the remaining armed men. She went to work destroying the guns her targets had been wielding then moved on to the stockpiles of Stark weapons her HUD located for her. As she finished disarming the handful of Jericho missiles the terrorists had secured, she glanced at the sky and saw the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL swiftly approaching.

"I think you're going to miss out on all the fun, Philly," she announced through the team's voice link.

A mere moment later, her feet left the ground as a tank shell connected with her armor, flinging her backwards along the ground. Her armor was for more than offensive, however, and she quickly pulled herself to her feet, uninjured by the shot. The tank fired another shell, but she twisted sideways out of harm's way. She heard people running her direction, but her HUD identified them as Phil's operatives. Before the tank could send another shot, her right arm unveiled a small, mounted missile, which she promptly aimed and fired at the vehicle. The operatives arrived at her position in time to see her turn and walk away from the tank, which exploded into a fireball a second later.

"Yup. Totally missed the party. Too bad! I was hoping we'd get to play _rough_ with you."

"Sorry to disappoint. I hope you had fun without me."

"Oodles." Her voice took on a more serious tone, as she continued, "I trust you'll make sure these people are all right."

"Of course. We'll take it from here. CENTCOM has been notified that you're with us."

Megan took off into the sky and began the flight back to the U.S.

_'With you...'_

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 09:40p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

As Megan departed from Gulmira, Director Nick Fury closed his administrative link to the visual and audio feed of the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL and operatives. He leaned back in his desk chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and weighed his options regarding Megan Stark. Her ingenuity and resourcefulness were phenomenal — case in point, her escape from The Ten Rings — but she was hotheaded and easily suspicious. He had expected she wouldn't work well with others, especially anyone she didn't fully trust, but her actions had begun to change that presumption. Her invitation to Lt. Colonel Rhodes had been understandable given their relationship, but she had also turned to his operatives for assistance regarding evidence against Obadiah Stane — a clearly personal vendetta — and had actually cooperated with the Gulmira matter. It could be that her "doesn't play well with others" attitude was a farce, her opinions on the matter were changing, or her narrow focus on doling out justice saw the benefits of working with a team in some situations. He suspected the latter, in light of her insistence she alone deal with Stane.

Fury stood from his chair, reaching a decision. Accepting Megan into S.H.I.E.L.D. in any capacity was playing with fire, but the Avengers initiative had always been a risky endeavor. He would administer one last test: Obadiah Stane had been on their radar for some time as a potential security threat, and the risk of leaving him unchecked had finally become too high. When Megan confronted him, Fury would send her assistance. If she accepted the help, in spite of her earlier refusal of it, then he would extend her an offer to join S.H.I.E.L.D.

_How will you choose, Stark?_

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 09:09p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

Obadiah's team of soldiers cautiously approached Stark's home, covered by the night. Obadiah's engineers had failed in all of their attempts to make a miniaturized arc reactor, so Obadiah had resolved to take Stark's. Unfortunately, no one had been able to locate the ex-CEO. Out of options and unwilling to wait any longer, Obadiah had ordered a raid on the Stark residence, hoping to find either blueprints the engineers could use to recreate the miniature arc reactor or, if luck was on his side, an already constructed backup.

The team descended the helix entrance into the basement workshop, per Obadiah's instructions. They would need to use charges to break through, but they would have immediate access to location most likely to contain their target.

They had just reached the sealed door to the basement when Jarvis chimed in, "Good evening, gentlemen."

The team had known about the AI but were caught off guard by the abruptly shattered silence. They quickly recovered, however, knowing that the clock had just begun ticking; the AI would doubtlessly notify the authorities.

"I'm afraid that you don't have permission to be here, so I must ask you to leave. The authorities have been notified of your presence."

The charges placed, the men rushed away from the metal door. There was nowhere to take cover, so distance was the only safeguard against injury. The charges exploded violently, tearing a human-sized hole in the door. A back-up security door immediately began to slam shut, but it was too late: one of the men had seized the brief window of opportunity and flung a super-charged EMP grenade through the gap. Jarvis' attempts to block the artificial entrance were cut short as the grenade detonated, bathing the workshop in an electromagnetic pulse that killed all electronic devices in its wake. With Jarvis' resistance ground to a halt, the men immediately charged into the lab one by one through the hole they had created.

The team's plan of attack had depended entirely on the EMP grenade, which had been a necessary risk. Using it made the retrieval of any electronically stored designs impossible and chanced damage to any backup miniature arc reactors Stark had in the lab; without it, however, Jarvis would have assuredly delayed them long enough for the authorities to arrive. On their own, the men couldn't possibly have anticipated the sophistication of Jarvis or the most likely location their target would be stored, but Obadiah had intimate knowledge of the Stark home.

"I've got something here!" The speaker held up the device in question — the arc reactor Megan and Yinsen had built in Afghanistan.

"We're done here. Move out and prepare for evac."

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 01:10p, CST | The skies over Shanghai, China; En route to the United States**

"Miss Stark, there's been a security breach at the house," Jarvis announced to Megan as she cruised through the clouds at maximum speed.

"What? Who?"

"Men have... Well, that's odd."

"Odd? What the hell's going on?"

"I'm... not sure. I've lost all connection to the basement workshop, ma'am."

Megan grit her teeth in frustration. "What about the rest of the house?"

"Some of the cameras near the stairwell have died as well. I've checked the functioning units nearby; all electronic devices in the dark zone appear to have died. My preliminary assessment is that an EMP has been detonated. The radius suggests a point of origin in the workshop — specifically the exterior entrance."

"Have you called the cops?"

"I'm on the line with them now. It seems my security duplicate was able to put out a general distress call before the EMP hit him."

The land below Megan suddenly gave way to the ocean as she exited China.

"Ping Rhodey's phone. Where is he?"

"Location found. Lt. Colonel Rhodes is presently in Washington, D.C."

_Well, shit,_ Megan thought to herself. _It was worth a shot._

"Get Pepper on the line."

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 09:13p, PST | Pepper Pott's Apartment**

Pepper gave a frustrated sigh as she clicked her computer's mouse, opening another window on the PC's screen. It was littered with dozens of programs — the fruits of her efforts to keep herself engaged in _something_. Obadiah had fired her after she witnessed the confrontation between him and Megan, so she had no job. It was odd, she decided, to be unemployed. She had been Megan's personal aide since the black-haired genius had taken over Stark Industries as CEO, and during that time, she had always been busy — always another task to finish. It had only been a little over a year and a half, but the rigorous work schedule had become some commonplace that she simply had no idea what to do with her sudden overabundance of free time. She wasn't sure whether Megan would be able to reclaim her company or not, but nevertheless, she had decided to hold off on job hunting for a time. Even if Megan didn't succeed in the end, Pepper figured that her friend would appreciate the silent show of support.

Pepper clicked another hyperlink, despite knowing her efforts were in vain. For now, all she could do was wait.

As she blearily glanced over the web article, her cell began to ring. "Shoot to thrill! Play to kill!"

She groaned. _Of _course_ Megan changed my ringtone again..._

She reached out towards the phone but fell away from it, startled, when the door to the room broke inwards in a flurry of wooden shards. Several armed men stood on the other side of the now displaced remnants of her door, and before she could move, two grenades were tossed into the room. Her world exploded in white light, leaving her effectively blind. Impulse compelled her to flee, even though her rational brain knew the only exit was through her assailants, but she found that her limbs were unwilling to cooperate. The sensation was over soon, as everything faded to black.

The attacker who had knocked Pepper unconscious grabbed her limp body and heaved her roughly over his shoulder.

One of his counterparts reached up to his earpiece. "Inform Mr. Stane that we have Potts."

* * *

**Wednesday, December 17th, 2003 01:15p, CST | The skies over the Pacific Ocean; En route to the United States**

"The call's been disconnected."

Megan's growled. While it was perfectly plausible, indeed even likely, that nothing was wrong, she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that Pepper had been forced to leave her phone unanswered.

"Jarvis, I need eyes on Pepper's apartment _now_. Get me satellite imaging, local security cameras — _anything_! Hack everything that isn't ours."

Jarvis was silent for a moment before responding, "The live feed for all security cameras in her complex is dead, but I have the earlier feed."

"Engage auto-pilot and pull up the footage."

Initially, nothing appeared amiss in the complex, but Megan's eyes widened in horror as she watched the various feeds systematically die, each time moments after small objects had been flung at them from a nearby corner.

Jarvis' voice interrupted the footage, announcing, "I've compared the uniforms of the men at Miss Pott's complex with external security footage at the house of the men who breached the workshop; they are identical, ma'am."

_Coincidental? Unlikely, _she thought to herself. "Do whatever is necessary to keep eyes on the men who kidnapped Pepper. Hijack every fucking camera in town, if you have to. I'm not going to let this stand!"

Her thoughts turned to Phil, knowing he likely had S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts near Pepper's apartment, but she hesitated. Before her stint in an Afghan cave, she never would have accepted help from such an outside party, much less actively sought it out. What had changed? Rhodes had suggested PTSD to her at one point, but she knew that wasn't the case. She had researched the matter, despite her insistence that she was fine, and had confirmed that she didn't meet any of the diagnostic markers. Furthermore, her change didn't line up with the symptoms of PTSD.

As much as she hated to admit it, the most likely culprit was that she had simply begun to see the appeal of working with others. She had always been a lone-gunner as a child, and the more she reviewed her earlier years, the more she became convinced the cause was how different she had felt from everyone. But that had begun to change. Her collaboration with Yinsen had been admittedly forced by the circumstances, but in hindsight, she could clearly see that she had bonded with him because of his intelligence. With Phil, she had begun to see the side of him that was willing to use whatever means were necessary to ensure justice was served. He had been happy to help her steal information from Obadiah's computer and had been willing to take the risks necessary to end the terrorist presence in Gulmira; she had solicited the first and taken charge of the second. She had been willing to get her hands dirty to ensure the good guys won and the bad guys lost, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had agreed with her at every step of the way.

Megan reached her decision. She made the call.

* * *

**Thursday, December 18th, 2003 01:33a, PST | Stark Industries, CA**

The metal clang of Megan's footsteps echoed in the darkness that covered Sector 16. She was making no efforts to muffle her steps as she examined her surroundings, her shoulder-mounted spotlight lighting the way for her.

"_Stane_!" she brazenly yelled into the abyss, her voice reverberating throughout the area.

She was doing everything she could to be noticed, short of blasting the structure. Her task was simple: ensure Obadiah knew she was there and, if possible, lure him out. Phil had still been half a world away when she called him, but he had made the arrangements for S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives to assist her.

"_Director Fury already authorized us to assist your efforts to stop Stane. He's become a global security risk and must be neutralized."_

The ambiguity of what it meant to "neutralize" Obadiah had left Megan a little queasy, but it had quickly passed once her hunch proved correct: Pepper's kidnappers brought her back to Stark Industries where they briefly met with Obadiah (_Of fucking course!_) outside Sector 16 before vanishing within. All the cameras inside it had been manually shut off by the central terminal, and after they had entered the dark zone, the rest of the building's cameras shutdown as well. Jarvis had attempted to restart them, but the building's main power had been disabled — the line between it and Howard Stark's arc reactor severed. Obadiah was clearly hiding his activities within, aware that Jarvis would have access to Stark Industries' central network.

"What's the matter, Stane? Haven't got the guts to face little ol' me?" Echoes then silence answered Megan's shouts.

She growled and continued to make her way through the darkness, stomping the whole way. Before long, her spotlight finally fell over something — her reassembled Mark I armor. Off to her right, she heard the unmistakable sound of a power suit activating, like her own suit's but deeper in pitch. She jumped back, her foot-mounted repulsors adding to her momentum, and a large, metal fist crushed into the ground she had just vacated. Megan stared in shock; the limb belonged to a gigantic, dirty silver suit outfitted with twin miniguns on both wrists.

Obadiah's voice projected through the speakers. "So you built another suit after all. I'm going to enjoy killing you, Stark."

_Well, shit._

* * *

Elsewhere in the compound, Natasha Romanoff and her team of operatives systematically combed the area for signs of Pepper Potts. Obadiah's plan, they had tentatively determined, was a simple divide and conquer strategy. Pepper and Rhodes were Megan's only human support, as far as Obadiah knew, and while Rhodes was a difficult factor to neutralize, given his military ties, preventing Pepper from aiding Megan was manageable in terms of risks and rewards. But Megan _did_ have more human support, S.H.I.E.L.D., and together, they had developed a plan of attack: Megan would act as the bait to draw out Stane, since she was the only person he would expect. Meanwhile, Natasha and her operatives would rescue Pepper while Obadiah was focused on Megan. Once Pepper was secured, the agents would help Megan neutralize Obadiah, if she hadn't done so herself already.

Pepper, however, was nowhere to be found. Megan had previously seized control of all security cameras on nearby structures, and the intel she had given them indicated that no one had left the compound by ground or air after Pepper was brought in. The structural layout had no tunnel exits, so unless Obadiah had secretly been carving one without anyone noticing heavy drilling equipment, Pepper _had_ to be in the building.

Natasha reached the vicinity around Obadiah's office, which had its door closed. She silently approached the door, listening cautiously for anything that might be on the other side.

"So you built another suit after all. I'm going to enjoy killing you, Stark," said the voice of Obadiah, muffled by its passage through the door.

Natasha stared in confusion. Was Megan inside? _She should be in Sector 16,_ she thought to herself.

Her earpiece came alive, the low volume setting preventing anyone but her from hearing it. "Obadiah got his hands on the suit I made in Afghanistan and somehow made a new one. He's armed with two miniguns. Don't approach Sector 16 — he'll rip you to pieces. Just leave him to me and find Pepper!"

_She _is_ in Sector 16 then. But then who's inside here?_

Natasha backed away from the office to a distance safe enough for her talk and brought her finger to her earpiece. "Copy that, Iron. This is Widow. Verify: are certain that Stane is in the suit? I hear his voice coming from inside his office."

Megan said nothing for a moment, then replied, latching onto Natasha's terminology, "I hear his voice through the suit's speaker's, but I can't verify, Widow. The suit is completely enclosed."

Natasha grimaced. "All agents converge on Stane's office ASAP; Iron, keep the hostile busy but do not injure it until we verify Stane's location."

* * *

Natasha's words seemed to reverberate in Megan's helmet as their implication sinking in. _If Obadiah isn't in the suit, then _who_ is?_

The miniguns of said suit pelted the area she had been moments prior as she hastily dodged and weaved between the storage crates outside the complex. She had quickly made her way outside, hoping her suit's dexterity would have the advantage over the other, bulkier suit. So far, the other pilot had yet to leave the ground, settling for chasing Megan on foot. She kept herself just ahead of her pursuer, allowing her to dodge the suit's frenzied assaults but keep the other pilot focused on her.

"Jarvis, we need to find a way to neutralize that suit. Can you tell what's powering it?"

"Preliminary scans indicate a power signature that closely matches your old arc reactor, ma'am."

Megan groaned. "I guess we know what they were looking for at the house."

"An astute observation as always, ma'am."

Megan ignored the remark, thinking to herself, _It's running on a palladium core, and palladium is pyrophoric. That means I could neutralize it with water, but that almost certainly injure whoever's inside._

She barely dodged another flurry of bullets but was blindsided by a storage container the attacking suit had swung at her with its other hand.

The attacking suit came to a stop near her, it's wrist-mounted miniguns directed at the ground while Obadiah's voice taunted her from within it. "What's the matter, _Tony_? I can keep this up all night."

Megan hastily picked herself up from and growled at Obadiah's use of her old name, but she suddenly grinned in realization. _"All night," you say? Let's test that._

She rose to her full, albeit short height, and stared down the other suit like a gunslinger out of an old western movie. "Then bring it on, you bastard son of a gun barrel! I'm the Iron Woman, and I'm _fucking invincible_!"

* * *

Natasha listened with bated breath from outside Obadiah's office as she waited for the other agents to arrive.

"What's the matter, _Tony_? I can keep this up all night," the muffled voice of Obadiah proclaimed.

She could intermittently hear other voices inside the office, and while she had been able to identify them as masculine in tone, she hadn't been able to make out what they were saying.

"Then bring it on, you bastard son of a gun barrel! I'm the Iron Woman, and I'm _fucking invincible_!"

Natasha wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but internally, she gave Megan props for managing to take such a ridiculous line and make a legitimate battle cry out of it. Regardless, what stood out to her the most was the fact she could clearly hear Megan's voice in the office despite her being outside. That meant one of two things: either someone was inside the office observing the fight via live footage, or they were doing that _and_ remote controlling the suit Megan was fighting.

"The 'Iron Woman'? What the fuck is the _tranny_ talking about?" a male voice closer to the door said, his proximity allowing his voice to reach Natasha clearly.

"Who the fuck knows. I just hope _it_ kills Potts by accident," another voice answered.

Natasha stared at the door. She could only presume that "it" meant Megan, but that didn't make sense unless —

Once again, Natasha swiftly but silently retreated far enough from the door. Ahead of her, she saw that most of her team had arrived, but she ignored them for the moment.

"Iron, Pepper is _in_ the suit attacking you; it's being controlled remotely. Do you copy? They're trying to trick you into _killing_ her."

* * *

The suit containing Pepper broke the lull of action, snapping its arms to the front and opening fire. The armor was slow, however, and Megan deftly side-stepped out of the line of fire and blasted into the air.

Megan boggled at the idea of Pepper in the suit, wondering why Obadiah would bother. Suddenly, everything clicked into place in her head.

_Everything he's done to me has been a spectacle: He didn't just arrange for someone to kill me; he arranged for me to be killed by my own company's weapons. He didn't just tell me I'd been deposed as CEO; he came to my house to flaunt it and belittle me with ugly terms. And now, he's not just trying to kill me; he's trying to break me by making me kill my friend!_

Her mind flashed back to Natasha's words. _"All agents converge on Stane's office."_ Of course he would be there. Where else would he watch her fall from grace? He wanted to strike her down while he sat in the office that had once been hers — that had once been her _father's_.

"Widow, all agents — get away from the office. _Now_."

Megan abandoned the opposing suit and blasted towards the corner of the building her office had been. She burst through the walls of the office, pulled the caught off guard Obadiah into a headlock, and stared down his team, all of whom had trained their guns on her.

"Drop your weapons," Megan intoned with a deadly seriousness.

The men did nothing. They neither did as Megan asked nor did they attempt to attack her. They knew that they couldn't stop her; they had seen her take blows from the remotely operated suit but get up without a moment's hesitation. Worse yet, if they tried to shoot her, they knew that their boss would invariably be caught in the cross-fire. But despite all of that, they also could not obey her.

Megan prepared to assault the men, unwilling to allow the impasse to continue, but stopped when Natasha's spoke through the voice channel. "Cover your eyes, Iron."

Megan shut off her visual sensors as the door burst inwards, two small canisters hot on its tail. The stun and flashbang grenades exploded simultaneously, leaving the men defenseless as the S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives rushed into the room and handcuffed them. Megan restored her visuals and watched the agents do their job.

"_No_." Obadiah croaked out from behind the armored headlock, his eyes still blinded. "No!"

His cry oozed with anguish — pure, unadulterated anguish. He began to thrash wildly against Megan's grasp, struggling in vain to break free, to somehow undo what had just happened.

"Iron." Megan looked up into the cold eyes of Natasha Romanoff. "We have our orders. Kill him."

Megan stared into those eyes. The blue eyes that she knew were green when they first met. The eyes of a person who killed on command, who changed who she was from mission to mission, who was one with the shadows that ate up other, darker shadows. Would her eyes look like that someday, if she continued to work with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Would her gaze become that same, bottomless abyss? It was a truly frightening thought to her. But what frightened her more was what had almost happened her tonight. But for the presence of those hardened eyes, Megan might have killed Pepper. Accident or not, she knew she would have been unable to bear the guilt of her actions.

Megan looked down at the squirming man she held in place — the same man who tried to take everything from her and nearly succeeded. She snapped his neck.

As the life ebbed out of Obadiah's still twitching body, Megan knew she had just stepped onto a slippery slope and she knew that this couldn't have ended any other way.

She tossed aside the corpse, and turned gaze upon Natasha once more, her face plate opening up so that she could see those eyes with her own.

"I need to meet with Director Fury."

* * *

**Thursday, December 18th, 2003 04:46a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"Miss Stark, a Director Fury is here to see you. He's assured me that he _'does not own your fucking house'_ and is willing to wait for your permission. Shall I let him in?"

"Yes." _Here's hoping for a smooth ending to this god-forsaken day..._

Megan stood from the couch and began making her way towards the front door. She met him there in the entryway and saw the Director for the first time. He was an African-American man with a chin and lip beard and was decked out in black: black boots, pants, turtleneck, and leather jacket. An eye patch, likewise black, covered his left eye, under which two long scars stretched from his forehead down to his cheek. She felt sorely under dressed in her usual dark red yoga pants, short-sleeved, black zip-up hoodie, and black sandals, but she knew it didn't matter to this man. This was an individual who could pierce the outer veil with his eye and see the person behind it.

"Miss Stark, my people tell me that you practically handled the entire operation by yourself tonight." Introductions weren't necessary, not with Fury.

"I wouldn't say single-handedly, sir. I couldn't have solved the equation without all the variables. Widow and the others got me those variables."

Fury nodded. He had known as much but wanted to see if she could admit as much.

"I'll be honest with you, Miss Stark. When I first read that transcript of your conversation in Bost, I didn't think you'd be a good fit in my organization, but you have since proved me wrong. I have a job offer for —"

"I refuse."

Fury quirked his one visible eyebrow. "Care to illuminate me regarding why?"

Megan coolly retorted, "Don't get me wrong, Director. I will do the job, but I refuse to accept payment for it. I'm doing this because it needs to be done."

They stood there for a moment, their gazes locked — two titans caught up in the gravity of the other.

Finally, Fury smirked. "Iron Woman — I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative."


	5. Chapter 04: Creating an Opportunity

**Invincible**

_Chapter Four: Creating An Opportunity_

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. _Invincible_ is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.

* * *

"It still holds true that man is most uniquely human when he turns obstacles into opportunities."

Eric Hoffer

* * *

**Thursday, December 18th, 2003 04:49a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"_Iron Woman — I'm here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative."_

Megan stared incredulously at Fury. "Is that the only way you military people get your kicks? Giving all your 'initiatives' and 'missions' weird names?"

"This coming from someone who named herself the 'Iron Woman'?"

Megan crossed her arms defensively and retorted, "I didn't come up with it. I just recognized a good name when I saw one."

Fury took a step closer to Megan, scrutinizing her with his one eye, as if she were a question on a test — a problem that needed solving. "Do you know why I thought you wouldn't be a good S.H.I.E.L.D. operative, Stark?"

Megan frowned at the man's piercing gaze and took note that he had referred to her as "Stark" rather than "Miss Stark." _What is this guy's deal? He was under the impression that I basically took down Obadiah myself, yet he's openly called out my compatibility twice now. Unless he thinks that was an easy mission, something I should've been able to handle _completely_ alone, then he isn't questioning my skill. Okay, check the context then: Both times he brought up my joining S.H.I.E.L.D., it was shortly after one of us mentioned —_

"You thought I wouldn't play well with others," Megan answered matter-of-factly. She internally grimaced at taking this long to realize that was his primary concern. She had unintentionally zeroed in on her skill being the deciding factor, ignoring the fact that regardless of how skilled she was, he wouldn't want her working with his agents if she couldn't function on a team.

Fury nodded then turned his eyes away from her, glancing at the pictures on the entryway's wall. "I knew your father. He was protective of you, always keeping you with him at his company, never allowing you to attend school with other kids."

He gestured at one of the pictures, and Megan turned her head to see which one it was. It was from her fourteenth birthday, a brief affair and her last birthday before her enrollment in MIT's online program. She was sitting at a table and blowing out the candles on her cake while her parents and Rhodes watched. Spare the photographer, who Megan vaguely recalled as being a staff member her father had pulled aside to take the shot, the four of them had been the only celebrants. Obadiah had begged off for some reason she couldn't remember, and Rhodes almost wasn't allowed to come, since Megan had only recently taken a liking to her father's military liaison.

Megan smiled softly at the memories the photo brought to mind but tempered them in light of the present company. Her gaze found Fury's face once more. "So I didn't exactly have a lot of friends growing up. I hardly see how that's relevant to whether I can be professional with teammates."

"It has everything to do with it," Fury replied, his voice entirely serious. "That picture's... what, nearly ten years old? Since then, your social circle has grown by exactly two: Your AI, who frankly doesn't count, and Miss Potts. Plus, you've been the half CEO of your company for a year and a half, yet you almost never interacted with anyone outside of Potts, Stane, and Rhodes. Yes — your ability to 'play nice' was called into question."

"Your evaluation of me has clearly changed, or you wouldn't be talking to me about this 'Avenger Initiative' of yours. So spill — what is it?" Megan said, refocusing on the present.

Fury's smirk returned. "I wouldn't want you to think I 'own your fucking house,' so I'll ask: May we use your living room?"

Megan rolled her eyes and gave a mockingly grand gesture towards said living room. "At least you had the decency to ask."

* * *

_Megan Stark, the Iron Woman; Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow; Clint Barton, Hawkeye; Bruce Banner, n/a; Steve Rogers, Captain America._ Megan glanced over the list of names and data on Fury's tablet once more then brandished it while fixing him with an incredulous look. "You're forming a team of people who can't be matched. What, did regular people get boring or something?"

Fury quirked his only visible eyebrow. "Not exactly. Tell me, Stark: If you hadn't had your suit, then what would it have taken to stop Stane's?"

Megan frowned. "Well, presuming he actually built one without ripping off my idea..." She paused, thinking back to her fight in Gulmira and how she had been shot by a tank and remained unfazed. _It might've been a different story if there'd been more of them, but that wouldn't have been very practical. No, they'd need to use something bigger than the average fare, and that would've made the risk to civilians _a lot_ higher._ "I see your point. His suit could've been trashed eventually, but it would have taken some seriously dangerous weapons to do it." She glanced at the list again. "To be honest, this Bruce Banner fellow sounds like he's _a lot_ worse than those weapons."

Fury nodded. "We're working on other options as well, naturally, but that doesn't mean this one is moot. If someone remarkable, like you, were to start causing trouble for the world, then an obvious response is to fight fire with fire."

Megan's frown eased up, giving way to curiosity. "So where does that leave us? Your list says Barton already works for you, so that means you've got three Avengers: Romanoff, Barton, and me. The Captain..."

She paused briefly, the mention of the veteran reminding her of the times she would watch old videos with her parents as a little girl. They had been cheesy, but her parents — her father in particular — had supplemented them with war stories about the Captain's bravery and devotion to protecting the U.S. The tales had been inspiring but always tinged with a sense of mourning, since he had vanished while on a mission.

She collected herself and continued. "The Captain is missing. That leaves Dr. Banner unaccounted for."

"And your first mission is fixing that."

* * *

**Monday, December 28th, 2003 04:08p, EST | Route del la Baie-James, near Lac Kachisikamach, Quebec, Canada**

"I don't get it. What the _hell_ is wrong with this bloody thing?!"

Bruce Banner took a deep breath and checked the heart monitor strapped to his wrist. _92... Keep it together, Banner! The last thing you need is to become... him again._

Bruce was grateful that the trucker had agreed to give him a ride, but the semi had faltered some time after that, sending the trucker into a half-frenzied panic as he tried to fix the engine and get back on schedule. His frantic shouts and curses at the broken hunk of metal had begun to slowly grate on Bruce, who had begun to debate whether he should start walking instead. He could _not_ allow himself to become angry.

The trucker's ranting and Bruce's thoughts were interrupted by the roar of an engine. Bruce initially thought the truck had come to life but realized that the sound was completely different than the dull rumble of the truck and that the new sound was clearly coming from behind him, somewhere down the road. Bruce couldn't see anything from the passenger side of the cabin, but it didn't matter, since the source of the sound — a red sports car of all things — screechingly braked, pulling off the road in front of the truck and coming to a halt. The driver-side door flipped open, the suicide-style door eliciting Bruce's curiosity. He hadn't expected to see this type of extravagance in the middle of Quebec.

The driver, a somewhat petite woman decked out in attire suitable for the chilly Canadian winter, climbed out of the car. She glanced at the trucker and the exposed engine block, her face obscured by her red Oakley pulses and a matching red scarf, and asked in an American accent, "What's the problem?"

The trucker, who had still been tinkering with the engine, twisted the upper half of his body around to acknowledge the lady's presence. "This god-forsaken hunk of metal won't work, even though there's nothing wrong with it!"

Bruce took a deep breath and gave his monitor a furtive glance. _95..._ When he looked back up, he was surprised to see the lady staring at him intently, as if she had seen his look and knew what he was checking on. _That's impossible though. Even if the military were aware of my episode up here, they surely wouldn't have sent one person to collect me, and they definitely would've done it quicker. It's been... What, three days?_

The lady's eyes returned to the trucker, who had already returned to glaring at his engine and had missed the shift in her attention. "Well, I'm afraid all I can do is offer you my phone to make a call and maybe give your friend a lift." She fully focused her attention on Bruce. "How about it? Where are you heading?"

Bruce was torn. On the one hand, he needed to distance himself from the trucker's anger, but on the other, he wasn't sure how he felt about riding with the lady. Something about her offer seemed... off. She clearly stood out as an oddity, in light of her high-class commodities and American accent, and she had summarily dismissed the trucker and quickly focused on himself instead. _Maybe I'm taking this too seriously. I know I've got reason to be paranoid, but that doesn't mean General Ross is coming to get me every time something weird happens._ "Matagami, if you don't mind, Miss...?"

The lady pushed up her sunglasses and pulled down her scarf, revealing her blue eyes and wide, mirthful smile. "Stark."

Bruce stared at her wide-eyed in recognition.

* * *

"S-so, Miss Stark," Bruce stuttered after he and Megan had piled into her car and taken off down the road, thankfully at a speed that wouldn't make Bruce's heart rate rise in panic. "I hope you d-don't mind me asking... You're _Megan_ Stark, r-right?"

Megan smirked. "So easily star struck! I'd be happy to give you an autograph, if you'd like," she said, finishing with a wink.

In spite of himself, Bruce weakly chuckled at her jest. "I wouldn't dream of imposing," he replied. "I... saw the press conference. I'm sorry they reacted so poorly." _God, where did _that_ come from? Smooth, Banner — you ruined the conversation in less than five minutes._

The smirk on Megan's face faded at the mention of the press conference, and her body language became noticeably stiffer. "That. Yeah. Thanks."

They sat in awkward silence for awhile as Megan deftly navigated the road. Bruce didn't trust himself to open his mouth and busied himself with watching the scenery fly by. Eventually, Megan sighed and said, "So you have questions or something, right? It's not like you caused that disaster, so apologizing is just an excuse to dig into the matter. Let's just get it out of the way."

Bruce frowned, caught off-guard. "I'll admit that I'm curious, but I really was sad to hear about how they treated you. I..." Bruce paused, carefully picking his words, then continued. "I understand how it feels to be treated like you're not normal."

Megan's eyes widened slightly at his statement. _That _is_ true, isn't?_ she thought to herself. "Oh. Well I'm sorry for being bitchy then," she muttered.

"No, no," Bruce replied. "Don't be. Anyway, what are you doing in Quebec, Miss Stark?"

"Megan," she offhandedly corrected. "And I'm here because of you, Dr. Banner." _Let's hope this works..._

The interior of Megan's car was warm from its heating system, but that didn't stop Bruce from feeling a chill rise up his spine. His eyes darted to his heart monitor, a "112" on its screen.

"Jarvis," Megan said, "take over steering for me and don't hit a deer or anything."

"Very well, ma'am. I'll take deer off the menu for dinner."

Megan twisted in her seat to face the panic-stricken Bruce, her blue eyes boring into his own blue orbs. "Please don't get angry, Dr. Banner. I swear to you that I'm not taking you in."

"You _swear_?!" Bruce snarled, his irises momentarily flashing neon green. He couldn't help it — he was so angry at falling right into the government's hands.

Megan cringed, thankful that Jarvis was driving instead of her. "Yes!" she hastily answered. "I'm here because I want you to have a _choice_ for once!"

That caught Bruce off-guard. "W-what? A choice?"

The window of opportunity was open — Megan took the plunge. "Yes, a choice. General Ross has been chasing you because he thinks you're a weapon. He thinks you're U.S. property. The people I'm working with think of you as a weapon too, but I _insisted_ that you should have a choice. I know you'll make the right one."

Megan pulled off her jacket and partially unzipped the black hoodie she wore underneath — just enough to expose the arc reactor in her sternum. Bruce stared at it, a confused look replacing the previous, angry one. "Is that an... arc reactor?"

She nodded, pleased that he already recognized the technology. That meant she could skip that part of the explanation. "You said you saw the press conference. Then you know about the attack." When Bruce nodded, she continued. "I've got a cluster of shrapnel in me, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. This stops it — this little circle of light. It's part of me now. Dr. Banner, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should have killed you."

Bruce interrupted her with a snort, understanding dawning. "You're saying that the other guy saved my life?" He shrugged dismissively. "That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. But save it for what?"

She reached forward slowly with her hand and gripped Bruce's hand, never taking her eyes away from Bruce's face. "Bruce," she said, the name leaving an interesting taste on her tongue as she said it. "You have a choice. You can be a weapon, or you can be a shield."

_She's serious, isn't she? _"What makes you think the people you work for won't just turn me over to General Ross? Or try to use me like he is?"

"Work _with_, not for," Megan corrected offhandedly as she released her grip on Bruce's hand and reached into one of her hoodie's pockets. Bruce found himself oddly wishing she had used her other hand — the warmth of her hand had surprisingly been a welcome feeling. She pulled out what was probably the most advanced cell phone he'd ever seen and, after she pressed a couple of buttons, she passed it to him. He retrieved his reading glasses from his jacket and looked at the phone. On its screen was a picture of what appeared to be two robots: one was dull gray and looked like it had been a serious rush job and the other was much sleeker and decked out in red and gold.

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. "How exactly do robots answer my question?"

The mirthful smile and eyes that had adorned Megan's face earlier came back in full force. "They're suits of armor, not robots. I built the plain metal one while in terrorist captivity and used to to escape. I built the other one back home in just over a week and used it to fly to Afghanistan and fight the remnants of the terrorists who kidnapped me." Seriousness replaced her mirth. "If I'd been anyone else, I would have died in the cave those bastards kept me in. If I'd been anyone else, I would have died when they shot me with a tank. But I am me, and I'm changed now. I'm not just Megan Stark, CEO of Stark Industries." Fire entered her eyes as she finished. "I'm also Megan Stark, the Iron Woman, and I'm going not going to sit back while the world goes to hell around me. I'm not going to continue to let people die from things _I can prevent_. Bruce, I can't promise you people won't treat you like a weapon. I _can_ promise you that if you choose to be a shield, then I'll help you stop the deaths that _we_ can prevent."

Bruce drank in her eyes and the flames that danced in them. She was nothing if not passionate, and he wanted to believe her — he wanted to believe that he could be more than a monster. He had been depressed since his failed suicide attempt a few days ago, having honestly lost sight of what he should be doing in life. He pulled the trigger because he hadn't see a way out of his nightmare, and it had only become worse after the other guy spat the bullet out. Could he be a shield instead of a weapon? Was it so wrong to wish that people would stop treating him like he was always the other guy? Megan was the first person who had done so since his accident. She had known about the other guy and had not only fearlessly sought him out anyway but also had arranged for him to ride together with her in her car. Even if she secretly had backup following them by car or helicopter, there was no way she wouldn't be harmed before help arrived if became angry. Megan remained silent while Bruce internally debated whether to accept her offer.

Eventually, Bruce replied, "I have some questions I'd like you to answer."

Megan nodded without hesitation. She had expected that he wouldn't be swayed easily; he had, after all, been on the run from the government for the past five years. "Ask away, big guy."

Bruce blinked at the moniker but plowed ahead anyway. "First, where are you taking me?"

"That depends on whether you still want to go to Matagami or if you want to just come home with me."

"Err," Bruce said, caught off guard yet again. "Are you asking me if I want to... to stay at _your_ home?"

It was Megan's turn to blink. "Well, yeah? I mean, I might work with S.H.I.E.L.D. (Those are the people I work with, by the way. Worst acronym _ever_.), but that doesn't mean I trust them to take care of you properly. Besides, my place is nice! Sure, people keep breaking in like they own the fucking place, and my garage door has a huge hole blown through it from... You know what? Never mind. It's a great place — truly lovely. You should totally stay with me." A wicked grin crossed crept across her face as she realized what he was actually bothered about. "Or are you worried I might try to do something scandalous in the middle of the night? Should I call your mom and ask if you can bunk over?"

Bruce's face strongly resembled the color of Megan's Audi for the remainder of the journey to Matagami, constantly being refreshed by a stream of innuendo, courtesy of Megan. His remaining questions, and his depression, were forgotten.

* * *

**Monday, December 28th, 2003 08:41p, EST | Aéroport de Matagami, the Tarmac**

"You really want to put _me_ in a _pressurized_ airplane?"

Megan elbowed Bruce playfully, replying, "We _could_ just drive the whole way, but I didn't pack another change of clothes. Besides, you'll be fine, Bruce! This is my plane, so you won't have to sit next to someone you barely know who refuses to stop talking about god knows what."

Bruce groaned. "Oh yes, Megan. I surely wouldn't want that. _Thank heavens_ I have you to talk to me about god knows what instead."

"Yes, you are truly fortunate," she replied with a laugh.

"By the way," Bruce said, "how exactly are you planning to get me past customs? I smuggled my way into Canada, I don't have a passport, and even if I had a passport, the military would have it flagged."

Megan reached into her purse, procured a U.S. passport, and handed it to Bruce. "The perks of working with an intelligence agency, Bruce — fake, not flagged, I.D. I hope you don't mind being 'Brock Hoult,' my friend who I came out to spend time with and who is now coming back with me to savor warm weather for a change." Bruce's only reply was a chuckling.

Megan left the loading of her Audi in the hands of her flight crew and made her way to the staircase entry into the plane. As she climbed the stairs, she reflected on how well everything had gone. Bruce hadn't actually said he was on board, but she had successfully gotten past the whole "I know you turn into an enormous green rage monster when you lose control — want to live at my place?" matter. Her cheeks took on a light dusting of pink at the thought of Bruce living in her home. On the one hand, she hadn't lied: It was true that she didn't trust him in the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D., and it _was_ more practical for him to stay with her than in whatever other location she could conjure up for him. On the other: _Should I mention how much I love his work on anti-electron collisions, or would that be awkward? I really don't want to come across as some kind of fangirl! Wait, why do I care? I mean, I don't want to tick him off enough that he'll change in my bedr— _

Megan stopped in the middle of the plane's hatch, her brain's gears thrown out of alignment by the direction of her thoughts. _Jesus, why am I thinking of him in my bedroom?! Abort! Just play it cool!_

She turned to face Bruce and say something — anything — to get her mind off of the logistics of him staying in her house, but Bruce, who had been caught up in his own thoughts, reached the top of the stairs and inadvertently walked right into her, sending the two of them tumbling to the floor of the plane.

"Ow..." Megan muttered while Bruce winced and reflexively checked his heart rate monitor, which proudly displayed a "86." The fall hadn't caused his heart rate to rise that much. His years of training in calming himself had done their duty.

Bruce released a thankful sigh and moved to get up but froze when he saw how they had landed: Megan was lying on the ground face-up, and he had landed on top of her in a compromising position. Megan had instinctively closed her eyes in the fall, and when she opened them, she found Bruce's face in close proximity to her own. Her cheeks' previous light pink coloring erupted into a furious blush as her imagination returned unbidden to its previous antics. _When did I become so fucking fixated on sex? Would he even me okay with doing it with me? Gah! I'm doing it again!_ she awkwardly wondered to herself.

This was an area Megan had no experience in, albeit not for lake of invitation from others. Men — and some women — had been trying to jump her bones since her teenage years, and her ascendance to CEO tossed a tanker full of kerosene on that particular fire. She had always, and not always politely, refused. She _had_ been interested in some (_Okay, many_, Megan admitted to herself) of the would-be-paramours, regardless of their sex, but she still hadn't had her surgery yet, and she wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of having sex while she was still, in her mind, improperly equipped. That and, until the press conference, she had been stealth about being trans* — any one of those suitors could've blabbed about her secret if she had told them.

The obvious solution would be to have a vaginoplasty and orchiectomy, but she had abstained at her father's request. This had been his one request regarding her early transition: Wait until she was twenty-five years old to have the irreversible surgeries. She would always be thankful for his total support on every other matter, and the logic of waiting wasn't unsound, so she had waited. She had waited even after he and her mother died in the car accident. She loved her father dearly for being there for her, and it would've felt like a betrayal of his memory to do it before the appointed day arrived.

"Oh!" a voice from nearby said, tearing Megan from her thoughts. Her eyes flicked in that direction and identified the voice as the same attendant who had walked in on her and Rhodes during her flight to the weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. "I'm so sorry, Miss Stark!" she said and beat a hasty retreat, muttering about Megan's "odd fantasies."

Bruce's face matched Megan's as he scrambled to his feet and began helping her up. "I _swear_ it's not what it looks like!" he yelled in the direction the attendant had left.

Megan's voice, honed by years of snarky and mischievous comments, kicked into auto-drive. "You _swear_?" she stated with a wicked grin.

Bruce turned to face her and stared, his blush somehow getting brighter at her reference to his words from earlier that day.

Megan blinked. "Shit. I just said that aloud, didn't I?" She gestured wildly into the plane, saying, "Please go find somewhere to hang out. I clearly need a break from the awkward."

Bruce was so distracted that he didn't check his monitor for once and missed seeing the "108."

* * *

In the distance, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had watched the duo board the plane via binoculars picked up his phone. "Agent Romanoff, ma'am? Stark has boarded her plane with Banner in tow."

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 08:13a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

The duo napped on the flight to LAX, so they were refreshed when they landed. Once they made it to Megan's house, Bruce found that he liked it quite a bit. Part of its appeal was undoubtedly the fact that it was easily the nicest residence he'd been in his entire life, much less the past five years, but the other part was Megan's workshop. The first thing he had done upon the duo's arrival was take a shower, but he had scarcely managed to pull a fresh change of clothes on (He thankfully had had some changes in his pack.) before Megan dragged him downstairs, excitedly assuring him that she "has _all_ the toys." True to her word, the workshop was a wonderland of technology; a wonderland dominated primarily by dozens of schematics with corresponding arc reactors of varying degrees of completion.

"Megan, what's up with all of these arc reactors? Are you working on an improved design for yourself?"

Megan, who had been making her way towards a circular groove on the ground, stopped and turned to face him. "Yes and no. Yes, I'm working on new models for myself but not in the way you're thinking of," she said, guessing that he was referring to the reactor in her chest. "These are the future of Stark Industries! We're going into the clean energy business. We'll be the only real name in it by the time I'm done."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow and half muttered to himself, "You really aren't making weapons anymore."

"You thought I was lying," Megan asked somewhat askance. "Bruce, video of that conference is on the internet, and we both know that means it's true!"

"I'll admit I wasn't entirely sure after you showed me the suit you built," Bruce replied with a chuckle at Megan's joke.

"Fair. But the suit is only for me, and I already told you why."

"_I'm going not going to sit back while the world goes to hell around me. I'm not going to continue to let people die from things I can _prevent_."_

"You did." Bruce paused then replied, "I'm sorry for doubting you. It's been... hard to be trusting while on the run from the military."

Megan could appreciate that, so she nodded in understanding, mentally soothing the mild hurt she had felt at his distrust. She turned back to the groove she had been approaching and said, "Speaking of the suit."

They sat there for a second, neither saying anything and nothing happening. Eventually, Megan's eye twitched. "Jarvis, that's totally your cue for the epic reveal! Your timing needs work, buddy."

"My sincerest apologies, ma'am. I'll be sure to review the dramatic timing training video and do better next time."

Bruce stared at Megan. "Did you really make a training video?"

"Hell no," Megan replied, rolling her eyes. "He's just being an ass." And with that said, Megan brought her right arm up in the direction of the groove and gestured upwards with her hand.

The circle smoothly rose, revealing a suit of armor with a different color scheme than from the one in the picture Megan had showed Bruce. The gold sections had remained, but their red counterparts had been replaced by a midnight black finish, and the blue eye slits were now red.

Bruce gave a soft "hmm" of appraisal as he looked over the machine. When he noticed that the gold sections were not, in fact, a painted color, he asked, "Is this a gold alloy? I'm curious: Why would you choose that?"

"It's a gold-titanium alloy, and it keeps me from becoming an Iron Woman popsicle," Megan jokingly answered.

"You don't think you'd be tasty popsicle?" Bruce replied, making a joke of his own.

Megan couldn't stop her voice before it replied for her. "Give me a lick and let me know."

Bruce choked on his own reply but was interrupted when Jarvis announced, "Ma'am, Miss Potts has arrived."

_At least someone has good timing,_ Megan thought to herself her cheeks red with embarrassment at her own words. "That's Pepper, my personal aid. If you'll just excuse me," Megan hurriedly told Bruce before rushing towards the door, using Pepper's arrival as an opportunity to escape.

Bruce glanced at his wrist. _102. She's going to make me change if she keeps making those types of comments!_ He turned his eyes back towards Megan as she began to rush up the stairs. The idea of the two of them together briefly flickered to life in his mind. _Is that something I want? Betty and I were dating once, but as long as her dad is chasing me, it's impossible to rekindle that. _Bruce's face grew grave. _Is that something I can even handle as long as the other guy exists?_

* * *

Pepper and Megan collided at the top of the staircase and fell into a heap on the floor, neither having seen the other coming. Pepper was not used to Megan actually leaving her workshop to meet her, and Megan's eyes had been riveted to the glass barrier between the bottom of the stairwell and her workshop.

"Megan," Pepper ground out in frustration as she picked herself up. "Please watch where you're going when decide to abandon the norm."

Megan winced as she rose as well, knowing that Pepper was technically right. "Yeah, sorry," she quickly, and evasively, replied. "So! You. Here. What's up?"

Pepper blinked at the odd choppiness of Megan's words and the blush on her cheeks, unaware that Megan's heart was still hammering from her encounter downstairs. "I... I have a lot of paperwork I need to go over with you. We're still reeling from the press conference, your forced deposal, and your recent reinstatement." She waited a moment, expecting Megan's eyes to glaze over and for the genius to begin tackling the to-do list without being told what's on it. After a couple of seconds without Megan's eyes glazing, Pepper eventually began to read the first item off the list on her clipboard. "In addition to the paperwork, you need to meet with the head of production about the arc reactor plans you've been working on. You're our entire R&D department — it's a necessity if anything's going to get done. I know you already signed all the paperwork to be the official CEO again, but you still need to meet with the board about everything that's happened. Don't forget that Obadiah... officially died in a plane crash. And we need to get started on planning the Stark Expo. We're seriously behind schedule on it, and if we don't hurry, it's not going to happen."

Megan had managed to somewhat calm herself by the time Pepper was finished. "I'll send the production head the blueprints, but I'm not meeting with her. Tell the board the same; I'm not going to stop being a recluse just because the prick died. If they insist, then you've got my permission to be me for a meeting, you lucky gal you. And the Expo is a huge waste of money anyway, so let's just scrap the plans. We can just have a tech demonstration instead and show off our arc reactor, which will be built by then. And yes, I'll do that one public showing, at least. I've got the appropriate flair blah blah."

Megan began to walk back downstairs but Pepper caught her shoulder. "Meg, wait," she said. "You still haven't signed the paperwork I need, and I... We need to talk about what happened."

Megan groaned still facing down the stairs. "Pep, we have talked about it. The prick went off the deep end, and I saved you using a full-body power suit. What else is there to discuss?"

"Don't get evasive on me, Megan! Why did you build that thing in the first place? What are you doing with it?" Pepper growled out.

"I already told you that too: I can't tell you."

"Megan, you need to give me more to go off of than that! I know you're my boss, but I... I thought we were _friends_, Meg," Pepper said, finishing in a morose tone.

That gave Megan pause. The two of them were silent for a minute, Pepper waiting on some form of reply and Megan wrestling with herself over what to say. Eventually, Pepper huffed and started to stalk towards the door, but before she could exit, Megan called out to her. "Wait!"

Pepper stopped and looked over her shoulder with a harsh look. Megan had returned to the top of the stairs and was gazing at her, her blue eyes full of sorrow. "Pep, you _are_ my friend. I'm sorry if I'm not acting like it. What I'm doing... I'm involved in things I don't want to drag you into. And it's not just you — I don't want to drag Rhodey into it either."

Pepper's gaze softened. She turned back and closed the distance between the two of them and enveloped her in a hug. Megan returned the hug, her grip strong. She didn't want to get Pepper any more involved than she had to, but she didn't want to lose her either.

After a moment, Pepper pulled back, her eyes shimmering, and said, "I figured. God, after everything that happened with Obadiah, I couldn't help but put together some pieces. Just... Just let me know if you need me, okay?"

Megan firmly nodded but said nothing. Pepper wordlessly handed her the paperwork and, after it was finished, took her leave.

Megan watched Pepper go and when she finally left her sight, she turned to go down the stairs beside her and saw Bruce was waiting at the bottom of them. He gave her a meaningful look and said, "If it helps, I know how you feel. I was dating my research partner when... the accident happened. I've wanted to meet with her, tell her I'm all right and about what happened to me, but I can't. Her dad is a general — General Ross. He's the one who's been chasing me for the past five years."

Megan grimaced. Bruce wasn't sure what caused it, exactly, but he was willing to bet it was his mention of Betty. Before Bruce could say anything about it, Megan gestured for him to come upstairs. "Let's find you a room, Bruce."

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 07:20p, EST | Langley AFB, Hampton, VA**

"No, no, no, no..." Joe, an air force officer, muttered to himself as he tapped his keyboard, flipping through the customs reports for the day. _I hate the graveyard shift. I know round-the-clock scheduled shifts are a necessary if General Ross is going to catch this guy, but this shift is _god awful.

He clicked away another report and almost did the same for the following one but froze when he saw the picture tagged with the name. He compared it to his reference photo — it was the target.

_Brock Hoult? Nice try, Banner._ He picked up the nearby phone. "Get me General Ross. Tell him I've found Banner."

* * *

Ross was on base and quickly arrived at Joe's room. When he got there, Joe saluted him and gave the full details of his discovery. When he finished, he said, "You left instructions that a retrieval team be assembled immediately if he's found. I got you who I could, sir. Short notice, but they're all quality. And I pulled you one ace: Emil Blonsky. Born in Russia, raised in England, and on loan to SOCOM from the Royal Marines. They're waiting for you in the plane."

"Good work, soldier. I know you cashed in some chips for this, Joe," Ross grunted.

"Glad I could help. Just make it good."

* * *

When Ross arrived on the plane, he filled in the small team on their mission. After he finished, Blonsky spoke up. "Is the target a fighter?"

Ross stared down the blonde-haired soldier. A scowl was set on his face and had a grizzled appearance on account of his five-o'clock shadow. He was also clearly aged; Ross pegged him as in his early- to mid-forties. Regardless of how good this man supposedly was, he would inevitably be unfit for missions soon enough. "Your target," Ross answered, "is a fugitive from the U.S. government who stole military secrets." Although this wasn't true, it was in Ross' eyes, since he considered Banner to be government property after the experiment's monstrous results. He continued, saying, "He is also implicated in the deaths of two scientists, a military officer, and Idaho state trooper, and possibly two Canadian hunters. So _don't_ wait to see if he's a fighter! Tranq him and bring him back."

Blonsky's scowl remained, but he grunted and nodded, wordlessly showing he understood.

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 07:48p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

Maria Hill, Director Fury's right hand agent, was busy handling paperwork — easily the least glamorous part of her job — when her phone began to ring. "This is Hill," she said, answering it.

"Agent Hill, ma'am," the voice on the other end of the line said. "We have a problem."

Maria couldn't place the voice, but that wasn't surprising — S.H.I.E.L.D. had a staff that numbered in the thousands. "What's wrong?"

"We just received word that General Ross from the Air Force knows Dr. Banner is at Stark's residence. He's got a team and will be there in minutes."

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 06:49p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

After Megan had appointed one of her guest rooms as now belonging to Bruce, she started headed back down to her workshop to do some last minute tinkering on the arc reactor that would be replicated in large scale for Stark Industries' energy project. Bruce had asked whether he could be in there as well, and Megan happily replied that she didn't mind. Once downstairs, Megan had gotten to work while Bruce pulled out his laptop. And so the day went, the two keeping one another company while focusing on their individual tasks. Every now and then, Bruce had discretely watched her from the corner of his eye, admiring the passion she put into her work and — though he would never admit it — her body as well.

Later in the evening, Bruce managed to once again tear his eyes from the black-haired gear monkey and pulled up his encrypted chat program to contact his associate, Mr. Blue, who he had been working on a cure for his "problem" with. He had been using the program to avoid the military's notice, and even though he suspected Megan's network was secure from prying eyes, the same could not be said on Mr. Blue's end.

[Mr. Blue,] Bruce typed. [I have news.]

[Mr. Green! Good hearing from you again after so long, my mysterious friend! What's the news? Did you figure out the cure yourself?]

_It has been awhile, hasn't it?_ Bruce thought to himself. The two of them had been tackling the problem for years but had not been in contact since their latest effort to cure Bruce failed. After so many failures, Bruce had given up hope on ridding himself of the other guy, which led to his recent escapade in Canada.

[No. I've found a new place to stay, and I'm changing my focus from curing to controlling.]

[Oh? What brought this on?]

Bruce took a second to mull over how to answer then typed, [My landlady is convincing.] Bruce snorted at the half truth. Megan wasn't officially his "landlady," but for the time being, it was technically true. And it _had_ been her to convince him. Granted, he still wasn't on board with the idea of being an "avenger," but he had warmed up to the notion of trying to find a way to control the other guy. He knew that he was not approaching the matter completely rationally, but this was the first sign of hope after he reached rock bottom. He was willing to try anything at this point.

[Mysterious as ever. As for controlling, I'm not sure how to approach that problem without you coming here for analysis.]

_That's unlikely to happen. God, I feel unsafe enough just being back in the U.S., much less if I were in NYC._

Before Bruce could clack out a reply, Jarvis' voice filled the room. "Miss Stark, you have a phone call from a Maria Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D. She says its an emergency."

Megan looked up from the piece of metal she had been welding and unconsciously pushed up her goggles. She wasn't familiar with the name, but she said it was an emergency and that she was with S.H.I.E.L.D. "Fine. Patch her through." She waited a split second for Jarvis to connect the lines then said, "What is it, Agent Hill?"

"General Ross knows Banner is with you and is almost there with a team to take him in. Take him and leave _now_. We have a helicopter making its way to your general location that will rendezvous with you ASAP," Maria replied, quickly giving Megan the important details.

Bruce growled, the sound in his throat deep and low. Megan had already thrown her goggles aside and begun to rush towards the grove that concealed her suit, a primal "_shit_!" her response to Maria's warning.

Halfway there, it occurred to her that she didn't know whether Bruce knew how to drive or would even be in condition to under the pressure of the military swooping in. She turned back to face him just as he finished hurriedly typing, [Have to go. I will contact you later.]

"Can you drive?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Bruce checked his monitor: 137. "No," he replied, his voice sounding normal again, albeit panicked. He began to suppress his heart rate as much as possible with breathing exercises.

Jarvis had already raised the suit by the time Megan reached it. His timing was perfect — there was no room for jokes in a danger situation. "Get in the Audi," Megan said as she moved into position to don the suit. It would be a tight fit in the car, but she would make it work.

Bruce snapped the computer shut, threw it in his bag, and raced to the passenger door of the vehicle. Once there, his eyes noticed the suit being installed around Megan and stopped in awe, in spite of the adrenaline blazing through his veins. It had been one thing to see the suit in storage and another altogether to see robotic arms break it apart and reassemble it around Megan. He could see it now. He could really see her as some kind of super hero. However, it wasn't just the suit that completed the picture. It was also the fire in her blue eyes as the suit enveloped her: the same fire they had held in the car when she was trying to convince him to be an Avenger. Unbidden, her words rang through his ears once more. _"I'm not just Megan Stark, CEO of Stark Industries... I'm also Megan Stark, the Iron Woman."_

Her face plate snapped into place, Megan's fiery eyes replaced by glowing red slits. "Let's go," she said, the suit projecting her voice. The duo piled into the car — just barely in Megan's case — and took off, the car's engine roaring.

* * *

As the Audi charged out of the driveway, the duo discovered that Ross was not, in fact, minutes away. A helicopter began to descend upon the fleeing car almost instantly, and the voice of whom Megan could guessed was Ross boomed out of an externally mounted speaker. "Banner! Give yourself up!"

Megan didn't slow down but turned to Bruce, who was clutching his arm rests and breathing heavily, and asked him, "It's your call, Bruce. I'm behind you either way."

Bruce gave her a look of gratitude, though it was hard to tell because his eyes were still panic-stricken. "Get me away from populated areas. If they keep this up, I'm bound to change."

"Gotcha. Cheese it."

Megan tore down state road 1 like a bat out of hell, weaving in and out of traffic while the helicopter followed from above. Bruce checked his monitor: 148. "Jarvis!" she called out. "Get Hill back on the line."

"Right away, ma'am," Jarvis replied.

The phone didn't even ring before Hill picked up the phone, immediately asking, "What's your location, Stark? We need to get you away before Ross gets there."

"Too late," Megan said as she narrowly dodged around a semi. "The party's already started without you. You're still invited to attend though. We _have_ to get Bruce somewhere he's safe to transform, if it comes down to it. I'm in a red Audi r8, heading west on state road 1. Does that chopper have a navigation system? Jarvis can send it our GPS data."

"Understood, and yes, it has a nav system. We're the only VTOL in the area. Link the data to us, and we'll extract Banner. We're trying to call off Ross, but he's gone rogue on this."

"Done deal," Megan replied, appreciative of Maria's directness given the situation.

Bullets began to hail down on the car, causing Megan to curse and swerve out of the way, nearly side swiping the next car over. Bruce growled, the sound nigh inhuman, and screamed, "Damn you, Ross! Why won't just leave me the fuck alone?!"

_Damn it, _Megan thought to herself. _I want to believe S.H.I.E.L.D. will make it in time, but if Ross is desperate enough to shoot at the car while we're still near people..._ "Bruce," she said as she began to weave more erratically to throw off the shooters. "What's your heart rate, and at what point will you change?"

Bruce checked and replied, "175, and I usually ch—" Another shower of bullets hit them, one of them hitting the floor between Bruce's feet. "_Fuck!_" Bruce yelled, distracted enough to not finish his sentence.

_I can't rile him up anymore than he already is. I'll have to tread carefully_. "Bruce," Megan said again, calmly but firmly. "I need you to focus for me. What rate will you change at?"

Bruce took a deep breath, swallowed, and responded. "It varies. Somewhere between 180-190."

_And he's already at 175? Well, shit. This plan isn't going to work, so what's plan B?_ Her eyes glazed over and, after a second of thought, she asked, "Can you swim?"

"Why th—"

"Bruce, honey," she calmly interrupted. "Trust me. It's important."

"Y-yes," he staggered out.

"Then hold on to me and close your eyes."

* * *

From his perch in the helicopter above the car, Blonsky frowned at Megan's speeding car as if his glare alone would cause it to stop. He had fired on it twice to no avail and was accordingly pissed. He wasn't the only one.

"Damn it, Blonsky, I said _stop_!" Ross yelled, his face red with anger. "We can only used tranquilizers! Stop shooting with god-forsaken bullets!"

Blonsky growled. "Tranq darts aren't going to stop the car, _sir_," he tersely replied.

Ross knew he was right, but he couldn't warn him about the danger he was putting them in without explaining what Banner would become when enraged.

Blonsky raised his gun to fire, and Ross moved to stop him, but before either could do anything, Megan made her move. The driver-side door of the car opened and a black blur they could barely see rocketed out of the car, which continued to steer through traffic. The blur flew out over the ocean, quickly escaping the chopper and beginning to disappear into the already dark winter night.

"What the hell?" Blonsky asked no one in particular while Ross yelled, "No! He can't get away!"

Blonsky brought his gun to bear, aimed at the black mass, and took a shot while he still could. An inhuman shout pierced the black night a moment later, but the mass was already gone.

"Am I still tailing the car, sir?" the pilot asked from up front.

"Yes," Ross answered without hesitation. "Someone's clearly driving it still, and if nothing else, we can get more information out of them."

* * *

"No!" Megan yelled as Bruce began to change. "Just hang on, Bruce!" Megan yelled. Her plan had almost worked without a hitch, despite being developed on the fly. Jarvis was steering the car, which avoided the necessity of a messy crash that might injure pedestrians, and she had hauled ass out of there with Bruce in tow, the dark skies giving her mostly black armor camouflage. She had counted on her suit's much greater speed to get them to safety before they shot at her and Bruce, but she had curbed her speed enough to keep Bruce safe from harm, unaware that he would have unconsciously changed had his human body reached its limit. Now, she was paying the price.

"Nearest uninhabited island, Jarvis. Now," she asked as she abandoned all safety precautions and approached the sound barrier without breaking it. The suit could have flown at over mach two, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted to trust that he would be fine, now that he was transforming — to focus on getting him where he could do no harm — but it was more difficult than she thought it would be. Despite having only met him just over twenty-four hours ago, she had swiftly grown to care about him. The logical part of her brain was screaming at her that he would be fine, but another part she couldn't place screamed back in turn that she couldn't risk killing him.

_When did he become so important to me?_ Megan wondered as Bruce's form grew larger by the moment, forcing her to adjust her grip.

"Turn southwest, ma'am," Jarvis replied. Megan swore his normally calm voice was laced with something akin to fear, but she might have been imagining it.

Bruce roared once more and began trying to shake himself free. Megan held on as best as she could but was fighting a losing battle. "Jarvis, send Hill our location. Tell he—" Bruce's flailing hand struck her head, knocking her out.


	6. Chapter 05: The Choice

**Invincible**

_Chapter Five: The Choice_

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Iron Man, Tony Stark, or any other Marvel intellectual property. _Invincible_ is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.

* * *

"Every man builds his world in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice."

Ayn Rand

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 07:56p, MST | S.H.I.E.L.D. Secret Base, Roswell, New Mexico**

Maria watched the rescue VTOL through remote feed as Ross' helicopter swam into view. She called Megan's number; Jarvis answered. "Hello, Agent Hill."

"Jarvis, right? Tell Stark our VTOL is in position. Is she wearing the suit? I need to know if she can get Banner onto it safely."

"Yes, Miss Stark is wearing the suit, but I'm afraid has already fled the car with Dr. Banner. I'm steering the car remotely."

Maria frowned. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of AI driving a car in California traffic, but she had to prioritize. "Then what is their position? Our top priority is Banner."

"I'm not entirely sure. I was directing her to an uninhabited island, but Dr. Banner transformed and struck her before they could get there. Her on-board GPS was knocked out in the process, but I have her location just before it blacked out."

Maria addressed her staff, asking, "Besides GPS location, what else would we need to find a crashed aircraft?"

One of her staff spoke up. "At the very least: speed, height, direction of travel, and size. Weight doesn't matter — just the size."

Maria relayed the request to Jarvis, and finished by saying, "Send me that, and we'll comb the ocean for them."

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30****th****, 2003 07:24p, PST | Los Angeles AFB, Los Angeles, CA**

Although Jarvis was perfectly capable of steering in the heaviest of traffic, he had not been able to outrun the pursuing helicopter and was ultimately forced to stop when Ross enlisted the help of multiple California highway patrol officers. Megan had left explicit instructions to try to make it home but otherwise not endanger anyone if he couldn't, so Jarvis had made no attempt to flee once caught. Ross and his men had been shocked to find the car driverless, but they hadn't left empty handed: Bruce's bag, which contained his laptop, had been left behind when the duo fled the car. Consolation prize in hand, the soldiers had returned to their vehicle and flown to the nearest air force base.

"So Banner was trying to cure himself..." Ross muttered to himself as he looked over the correspondences between "Mr. Green" and "Mr. Blue," which he had transferred to his own computer.

All of the soldiers had left to refresh themselves except for Blonsky, who had remained with Ross. "Cured? That sound was Banner then?"

Ross fixed him with a look and debated how much to tell the man. Eventually, he replied, "I want to emphasize that what I'm about to share with you is tremendously sensitive, both to me personally and the military. You're aware that we've got an Infantry Weapons Development program. Well, in WWII, they initiated a subprogram for Bio-Tech Force Enhancement."

"Yeah, a super soldier," Blonsky acknowledged.

"Yes. An oversimplification, but yes. And I dusted it off, got 'em doing serious work again — bold work. Across the hall, they were trying to arm you better. _We_ were trying to make _you_ better. Banner's work was very early phase. It wasn't even weapons application. He thought he was working on radiation resistance; I would never have told him what the project really was. He was so sure of what he was onto that he tested it on himself. And... something went very wrong. Or it went very right." Ross pulled up the only footage he had of Banner's other half — the day of the accident. Blonsky watched the gigantic, green monster with hungry eyes. When the video ended, Ross said, "As far as I'm concerned, that man's whole body is the property of the U.S. military."

"You said he wasn't working on weapons, right?"

"Right."

"But you were," Blonsky said, his voice equal parts accusation and curiosity. "You were, weren't you? You were trying other things."

"We were trying other things," Ross admitted. "One serum we developed was very promising."

"So why did he run?"

"He's a scientist," Ross said scoffing. "He isn't one of us." He examined the highly skilled soldier for the second time that day. "Blonsky, how old are you? Forty-five?"

"Thirty-nine."

"It takes its toll, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," Blonsky said, his distaste for his age clear in his voice.

"So get out of the trenches," Ross replied. "You should be a Colonel by now with your record."

Blonsky growled. "_No_. I'm a fighter. I'll be one for as long as I can." He paused then he suggestively said, "You know, if I could take what I know now and put it in the body I had ten years ago... That would be someone I wouldn't want to fight."

Ross got a gleam in his eye. "I could probably arrange something like that."

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 08:04p, PST | Passenger's Cabin of a Ship in the Pacific Ocean**

"Wha— Megan? Megan?!" Bruce said as groggily came to.

"Hey, big guy. I'm right here. You're okay," said Megan, her voice coming from immediately next to his ear.

Bruce turned his head in the voice's direction and was subjected to a close up of Megan's cheek. When he pulled his neck back enough to see more than her cheek, he found that she was resting her chin on his shoulder. Bruce blinked and looked around in confusion. Across from the duo was a small, wall-mounted mirror, and in it, Bruce could see that he was wrapped in a blanket and sitting upright in a soft bed, positioned between Megan's legs and leaning against her, enveloped in her arms. Megan's back was against the headboard of the bed, so her back clearly wasn't burdened holding him upright. She had a sizable bump on her head, and the cold pack she had presumably been given for the injury was lying on a night stand next to the bed. They were both dry and were somehow wearing fresh clothes.

Bruce blushed furiously at the close proximity, but rather than move, he decided to stay put, internally justifying his choice with a weak excuse of staying warm. "Are you okay?" he said, grimacing. "Did I hurt you? Did I hurt anyone else?"

Megan smiled softly. "All I got was a solid bump on the head. No one else was injured, but I imagine you scared the hell out of some fish."

Bruce retrieved the cold pack, pried one of her hands free, and placed the pack in it. "You need this. I'll be fine."

"Yessir!" Megan sardonically replied, accepting the pack with a giggle.

Once she pressed the pack against her bump, Bruce asked, "So what happened? The last thing I clearly remember is leaving the car and flying off."

Megan's smile dimmed slightly, as she answered, "Someone on Ross' helicopter shot you. We were a hell of a distance away, so unless it was a crack sniper, it must've been pure luck that they hit you. Regardless... You started to change. I tried to get us to an uninhabited island before you could finish, but I didn't know how fast I could go without hurting you. Before we could get to land, you finished changing and clocked me on the head. I was out for awhile."

Bruce winced. She had already told him he caused the injury, but the details made it clear that he had probably hit her at full strength. "Thank god you were wearing the suit," Bruce muttered.

Megan grinned. "No kidding. I've been hit with a tank shell and walked away without bodily injury, but you? Yeesh! I'll have to upgrade my shock absorbers to 'Bruce quality,'" she said, finishing with a wink.

"I hope you'll never need it," Bruce said with a groan. He tried to access any memories of the event and, upon sifting through what little he had, he slowly muttered, "I... I think I actually didn't mean to do it."

"I _was_ gripping you tightly. We were moving at just under mach one." She quirked an eyebrow. "So does that mean you remember some of it? What's it like? When it happens, what do you experience?"

Bruce floundered for an appropriate explanation for a moment before answering, "I volunteered for an experiments at Harvard once — involved induced hallucinations. It's a lot like that, just a thousand times amplified. It's like someone's poured a liter of acid into my brain."

"But you do remember things?" she pressed.

"Just fragments. Images. There's too much noise. I can never derive anything out of it."

"But then it's still you inside it," Megan said, her smile returning in full force. "I thought as much."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked in confusion.

"When I came to," Megan replied, picking back up with her story, "we were on the deck of this ship. The crew said that you were awake when they found us and still the other guy — or as they described you, 'a green monstrosity.' You swam on your back towards the ship, keeping me on your chest and out of the water. Once you reached the ship, you tossed me on board then changed back to normal. I woke up as they were fishing you out."

Bruce stared at the Megan in the mirror, flabbergasted. "Thank god," he muttered, happy she was safe and unsure of what else to say.

"No," Megan asserted. "Thank _you_, Bruce. I really think your mind was still in there — that it's just overcharged and can't process what's happening while you're the other guy."

_I guess there's really hope for control after all,_ Bruce thought to himself, daring to hope.

They sat there in silence for a bit, before Bruce finally addressed the elephant in the room. "So, uh, why... You know. We're both —"

"Oh!" Megan said, blushing as she realized what he was talking about. "You weren't sleeping well, and I thought you might've need some... Err, bodily contact." Her blush grew darker as she defensively stuttered, "I – I mean, I was on your chest in the water, so it just makes sense. It _does_ make sense. _Really_."

A knock at the cabin door saved Megan from further embarrassing herself. "Oh, you hear that? Cabin door. Gotta answer and all," she quickly muttered. She raised her voice so the knocker could hear. "Yes? Come in."

The door opened and the captain of the small boat leaned in through the frame. "Mr. Stark? Some folks from a 'shield' are hailing ships on the radio, asking if we've seen you. I told them you were aboard. They'll be here soon," he said in a gruff voice.

Bruce growled at the honorific the man used, his eyes briefly glowing green. The man paled, remembering the monstrous man Bruce had been earlier and beat a quick retreated, slamming the door behind him.

"Bruce, honey, it's okay," Megan said placatingly. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Fuck that. Did you hear what he called you?" his anger palpable.

Megan did her best to keep Bruce calm, but internally, she was cheering. _Hell yeah! He's getting angry over someone misgendering me! Win!_ "So to clarify," Megan asked, "does this mean you're okay with the fact that I'm trans*?"

"Of course?" Bruce said, his voice filled with confusion again. "Did I say I wasn't?"

"No, but admittedly, I was... worried," she replied, practically glowing with happiness. "Thank you, Bruce."

Bruce nodded in understanding. How could he not? He understood what it was like to fear ostracization because of one's secret. Hers wasn't a secret anymore, but the press conference hadn't been that long ago, and the widespread reaction had been negative. It was probably still a sore wound. He thought back to his first conversation with her. "Do you know why that made me so angry?"

"I have a hunch," she replied. "May I?" When Bruce nodded, she continued. "You were angry because he labeled me. I didn't get a choice in the matter."

"Right," Bruce affirmed. "Most people call me a monster. The military thinks I'm a weapon. Even your allies, S.H.I.E.L.D., call me a weapon. You're the first person since my accident who's ever given me a choice — who's ever _fought with someone_ over my right to choose. I won't let people take that right from you either."

Megan's eyes began to shimmer with tears. _No, no, no!_ a corner of her mind yelled. _No falling to pieces! This is the moment! Seize it!_ She wasn't entirely sure what "the moment" was supposed to be, but she managed to prevent the tears from actually escaping her eyes.

Oblivious to Megan's internal struggle, Bruce continued. "What I'm trying to say is... I'll do my best to control the other guy. As long as you're fighting to protect people, I will too — even if it means I have to work with the military."

"Sweet!" Megan said, enthusiasm bubbling up in her. "I don't think S.H.I.E.L.D. answers to the military anyway, so bonus! So are you going to pick a superhero name?"

"Err... Superhero name?"

"I mean, you don't have to, but I figured I would ask. I have one, after all: I'm the Iron Woman, remember?"

Bruce did remember. He remembered both the name and the fire in her eyes as her suit assembled around her. He blushed faintly in remembrance. "I don't know. I guess that's fine. You pick."

Megan gave him a _look_, which the mirror did nothing to minimize. "Bruce, we just got done talking about how important choice is. You _don't_ need one, if you don't _want_ one."

"Really, it's fine," Bruce said with a smile, his resolve returning as he thought of the fiery eyes of the Iron Woman once more. "I'm just not good at naming things. My parents got me a dog when I was a kid, and I named him 'Fido.' Picking names is seriously not my bailiwick. I really do want you to pick one for me."

Megan smiled, "Gotcha. Well, let's think then... I didn't pick my name either, to be honest. I was christened by my friend who helped me build the suit I used to escape Afghanistan (I'll tell you the whole story later. It's a bit long.). It needs to be fitting, and we _could_ memorialize the location you made the decision too... How about the Hulk? That's a term for a big guy _and_ ships."

Bruce chuckled. "I hardly think I'm a grounded ship, but I get the point." He paused for a moment then tested out the name. "The Hulk. Bruce Banner, the Hulk; partner of Megan Stark, the Iron Woman. Yeah, that works."

The muffled sound of what could only be the S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL filled the room.

Megan's smile twisted into a flirty grin. "My partner, are you? My, my. I'll consent to that."

Moments later, the door flung open, revealing a black clad agent.

"Oh, uh, Miss Stark, Dr. Banner," the well cut agent said awkwardly upon noticing the close proximity of the duo. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need to get going before General Ross finds us."

Megan and Bruce both blushed but didn't correct the agent's presumption — neither feeling inclined to.

Before making they made their way to the VTOL, Megan moved to the small cabin's closet, which Bruce had missed in his earlier inspection of the room, and opened it. Her armor was inside and divided into sections. When Bruce gave her an inquisitive look, she briefly explained. "The suit has a dissemble function in case of an emergency. This didn't exactly qualify, but I, uh, wanted to hold you without it."

Bruce nodded, accepting her explanation without a word, and helped her collect the pieces of her suit. The agent who had come to retrieve them had to help as well, since the pieces were unwieldy, but after they ultimately got it all aboard the VTOL, retrieving the pair's wet clothes along the way, and set off for Megan's house.

* * *

**Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 08:04p, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

The VTOL landed on Megan's roof after she assured them she had a roof access hatch. The agents had loaded her armor into a net they had on hand, which Bruce offered to carry. Before the duo departed, the agent who found them in the cabin pulled them aside and said, "Agent Hill wants to debrief you ASAP. Please use the same number." Megan gave the man a mock salute then exited through the lowered entryway of the VTOL with Bruce and her armor in tow.

* * *

"Jarvis," Megan called out once they reached the basement. "What's our status on the Audi? Did they pull you over?"

"Welcome home, Miss Stark," Jarvis intoned. "A pleasure to see you're still in one piece. I'm afraid they forced me to stop about an hour ago. They took Dr. Banner's bag, and they've impounded the car."

Bruce cursed. They were out of the frying pan and into the fire. "Megan, I was using an encrypted chat program to work with a contact about a cure. If they hack my laptop, and they will, then they'll track him down."

Megan frowned in thought before asking, "Is that bad? What they would they be able to pin on him? Do we need him?"

"Yes. He's a fellow expert in gamma radiation and could be the key to controlling the other guy, so yeah, we need him. I don't know what crimes they could accuse him of, but they could definitely keep him out of our reach."

"Gotcha. Jarvis, get Agent Hill on the line. We need a plan."

"Right away, ma'am," Jarvis coolly replied, his voice subsequently replaced by a dial tone.

"This is Hill," said Maria's voice over the workshop's speakers.

"It's Megan, Hill. Thanks for the lift and attempted extraction," Megan honestly said. Even though the VTOL hadn't made it in time to prevent Bruce from hulking out (She stifled a giggle at her newly minted term for Bruce's shapeshifting.), the intelligence organization had nevertheless made an attempt and had ultimately gotten them back home.

"Stark, I'm glad we could retrieve you and the good doctor safely," Maria said with a relieved sigh. "My team let me know before now, but it's a relief to hear you anyway. Your AI already filled me in on your escape from the car. Care to fill in the details about how you got on that ship? Did Dr. Banner... change?"

"Yeah, Bruce got a little green around the collar," Megan said, attempting to relieve the tension she heard in Hill's voice through humor. "We would've gotten away clean, but someone in Ross' helicopter somehow managed to shoot Bruce from a hell of a distance. I got us out of dodge ASAP, after which Bruce _accidentally_ knocked me out. He then _rescued_ me by getting us safely to a boat before he changed back," Megan finished, stressing that Bruce had done nothing absolutely nothing wrong. She left out the details from on the boat; they were unimportant.

When Maria replied, her voice was still terse. "But he _did_ change. Off the coast of California near Malibu, no less. That's unacceptable; he's clearly not stable. We'll have to bring him in."

Bruce and Megan both bristled with anger. "That's not your call to make," Megan said, bluffing and hoping it was Fury's.

A tense silence followed. "No, it's not," Maria finally admitted. "But you can be damn sure Director Fury will hear about this, Stark."

"Of course," Megan angrily replied. "I'm counting on it."

"Keep Banner on you premises and don't let him out of your sight. I'll be in touch shortly," Maria said, hanging up when she was finished.

Megan turned to face Bruce, who had sat down on the floor cross-legged, closed his eyes, and begun calming himself with a breathing exercise. "Don't worry," she reassured. "Fury gave me the go ahead to retrieve you from Canada, so he had to be okay with the idea that an accident might occur."

Bruce opened his still blue eyes — a good sign. "And what if this 'Fury' guy wants to bring me in?"

"Then we'll stop him," Megan replied with finality and seriousness.

"What about my contact? Dr. Samuel Sterns — he works at a NYU."

Megan frowned in thought. _I don't want to alienate S.H.I.E.L.D., but this _does _sound important._ "Hill will call back soon. Let's see what she has to say about it. If they don't want us to go... then we'll grudgingly agree and hightail it to NYC the moment they're off the phone."

Bruce eyed her appreciatively. "Thank you, Megan. That means a lot to me."

Megan smiled and offered him a hand up. Bruce accepted with his right hand, his bare wrist catching Megan's eye. "Did you want me to hammer out a heart rate monitor for you real quick? Or have one brought here?"

"The latter, please. I don't want to distract you from repairing your suit."

The damage to her suit had been minimal, but Megan didn't bother to argue. She pulled out her cell and speed dialed Happy, asking him to buy the best heart rate monitor he could find and bring it by after. In the middle of the call she suddenly turned to Bruce and asked, "Do you want him to get you some clothes while he's out? I don't exactly have any clothes to offer you, and Ross has your bag."

"Uh, yeah," Bruce said, caught off guard. He was so used to wearing what he could get while on the run that the loss of his incredibly small wardrobe had yet to really hit him as an issue.

"Sizes?"

"Medium and thirty-two by thirty pants with a belt to hold them up." At Megan's raised eyebrow, Bruce explained, "Room to grow."

Megan nodded sagely, her eyes alight with mirth, and returned to her phone call. "I need you to get some men's clothes too, Happy. Men's medium, t-shirts, some thirty-two by thirty pants, and a... twenty-eight inch belt. Get the stretchiest pants and belt you can find," she finished, eying Bruce's waist with a calculating eye and guessing his actual waist size.

There was a pause on the other end before Happy asked, his voice filled with incredulity and concern, "Meg, did you actually bring a guy home? He didn't force himself on you, did he? Do you need me to come kick his ass?"

Megan burst into laughter, her cheeks dusted with pink. "N-no, Happy. I'm fine. Really." She caught Bruce's eye and winked. "I _swear_ it."

Bruce, who couldn't hear Happy, was confused but chuckled at the in-joke anyway.

* * *

By the time the call came, Happy had yet to arrive with Megan's requested purchases, but she had at least changed into an outfit akin to her usual attire: black yoga pants; a dark red cami with a matching bra; a short-sleeved, charcoal zip-up hoodie; and her original pair of black, flip-flop sandals, which had already dried.

"Miss Stark," Jarvis intoned. "Director Fury is on the line."

"Good," Megan replied, happy that Fury had decided to forgo using Hill as an intermediary. "Put him through on the speakers." She waited a second for Jarvis to handle the request, then said, "Director Fury, sir. I'm sorry we had to take up your time." _It can't hurt to butter him up a bit,_ she thought to herself.

"Of course, Miss Stark," Fury replied, his voice giving nothing away. "What seems to be the problem?"

Megan quirked her eyebrow while Bruce frowned. "I was under the impression that Agent Hill would fill you in, sir. Am I wrong?"

"She did tell me, but I want to hear it from you directly," Fury smoothly said.

"If you insist," Megan replied, deciding to play along. She wanted his back on this, after all. "Did you want a whole brief or just the disagreement?"

"The latter."

"Agent Hill is under the impression that it's unsafe for Bruce to be here and wants to bring him in. She's completely wrong, of course. The situation that caused Bruce to hulk out were seriously extenuating circumstances, yet I still got him to a safe location despite all of that." Bruce choked down a chuckle at her use of the words "hulk out."

"I'll presume you were referring to Dr. Banner transforming. Weren't you knocked out in the process and narrowly avoided drowning?" Fury asked.

"Semantics, and I think it's a bit much to say I was in danger of drowning, sir." Megan smiled, even though Fury couldn't see her face. "_Bruce_ kept me safe."

"Are you insinuating that Dr. Banner has control over his other self?"

"Not a hundred percent, no, but enough that he's not a danger to me, and as long as he's with me, he's not a danger to anyone else either."

"You say that," Fury replied, "But I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Stark. We directed you to Canada to retrieve him because we had intel that he may have 'hulked out' while there. Did he tell you why he was there?" Bruce's eyes grew wide as he fervently prayed that Fury wouldn't tell her. His hopes were dashed when Fury finished, "Did he tell you that he went there to commit suicide?"

Megan grabbed a nearby table, her knees suddenly wobbly. "Of course," her auto-pilot voice managed to say, lying for her. "Though I'm curious about how you found out."

"We searched the area the incident was reported in after you got Banner on your plane. We found an empty gun with an expended bullet nearby. His finger prints were all over them, showing he had held it facing backwards, and trace amounts of DNA from his saliva was found on the barrel and the bullet."

Megan collapsed into her chair, unable to support herself any more. "Oh. That makes sense." It was a miracle her voice was still calm.

"Now that you know that," Fury said, not fooled by her act, "are you still confident that I don't need to have my agents bring him in?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, sir. Hill thinks he needs to be brought in, but she's completely wrong."

After a moment, Fury replied, "Very well. Don't leave your house without a backup plan in case Dr. Banner hulks out. You got lucky this time, Stark. You can't rely on luck. Understood?"

"Crystal," Megan retorted before she hung up.

The pair of heroes sat there in silence for what felt to Bruce like an eternity, the air seemingly frozen, in spite of the heating system. Bruce waited with bated breath, unable to summon the courage to say anything before she did.

Megan broke the silence. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?" Bruce had no answer, so he said nothing. Eventually, Megan spoke again, her voice beginning to crack. "I know we just met, but... but I _care_ about you, Bruce, and I thought you cared about me too. _Why didn't you tell me_?" She sobbed as tears began to fall freely from her eyes. _How did this possibility not occur to me? I knew he was on the run for the past five years, that he'd been unable to cure or control his other half. I _should_ have seen this possibility!_ It hit her like a ton of bricks: She had been trying so hard to see the good in Bruce. She insisted that he could be more than a weapon, that he would choose correctly given the chance, that he wouldn't try to flee, that he could control the other guy. _Is that why I feel so betrayed?_ she wondered. _Or is it because I saw so much of myself in him? _

That was the main reason, she realized. They both were both subjected to tortures they wished they could avoid: Bruce had his transformations, and Megan had a shrapnel laced chest and her gender identity conflicted with her birth sex. They both did everything in their power to escape those tortures: Megan built the arc reactor and hid the truth of her birth sex, and Bruce attempted to cure himself. They both were labeled in ways they hated: Bruce was called a monster — less than human — and Megan was misgendered. They both had the people they loved taken from them against their will: Megan's parents and Bruce's ex, Betty Ross. They were both science junkies. They were both new to the idea of being superheroes. They were both _damaged_.

Bruce knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her, interrupting Megan's thoughts. "I'm sorry," he said.

_Can I accept that?_ her rational brain asked._ Is a simple "I'm sorry" enough? What could make this better?_ _What do I want? _

Her emotional half answered. _I want to stop crying._

_Okay,_ rational-Megan said. _Would accepting Bruce's apology help me stop crying?_

_Oh my god _yes_ — yes it would,_ emotional-Megan replied.

_Square deal. Anything else on the "I want" list for this convo?_

_I don't want to worry about whether he's hiding anything else._

_Kind of hard to verify that without a bitchin' lie detector, emotional-me, but we can make our opinion known,_ rational-Megan said._ Last call for imminent wants? _

_I want to be on the receiving end of more hugs. I miss Daddy's,_ emotional-Megan responded, invisibly pouting.

_Err, let's shelve that one for later. Gotta... uh, leave room for growth. Now then — let's get ourselves not lost in thought._

"Apology accepted on one condition."

Bruce blinked. Unless the condition involved something impossible for him to do, this was easily the smoothest end to an argument ever. It was doubly impressive when he accounted for the severity of his omission and the generally uncertain nature of his relationship with Megan. "W-what would that be?"

Megan twisted around in his arms so she was facing him, his hands sliding up to rest on her shoulders. "I want you to tell me the truth, and I don't want you to fucking omit something important like 'By the way, did you know a bullet tastes like metal when you shove a gun barrel in your mouth and shoot?' okay?"

"O-okay," Bruce said gulping. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, coaxing his heart rate downwards. Megan waited without comment, since she understood what he was doing. Eventually, he opened his eyes and asked, "What do you want to know."

"Why did you do it?"

Bruce didn't need to ask what "it" was. "I got low. I didn't see an end, so... I decided to put a bullet in my mouth."

"What happened?" The evidence Fury's agents had collected gave Megan the impression that Bruce couldn't be killed. She wanted to know for sure.

"The other guy, err, spat it out."

"That's... that's incredible," Megan muttered. "If you don't know the answer to this one, then just say so: if I flew my suit at max speed — that's over mach two, by the way — and I was carrying you, would you still be okay?"

Bruce thought about that one for a moment. "Based on what happened to me in Canada, I _suppose_ I would be fine, but I really wouldn't know unless we tried. I suspect that I'd hulk out though."

_Mental to-do list: test that shit. That's totally bad ass._ "What caused your accident? What were you doing?"

"You know who Captain America is, right?" Bruce asked in return.

"Of course," Megan answered. "My father worked with him when during the war. He told me all the stories."

Bruce had expected as much. "I was working on developing a serum that gave humans resistance to radioactive materials like gamma rays. At least, I thought that was all. General Ross was in charge of my research team and several others, so there was probably a deeper purpose I wasn't told about."

Megan took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever his response might be to her next question. "Do you _like me_ like me?"

Bruce blushed and opened his mouth to say something, but when nothing came out, he snapped it shut. After he tried and failed a second time, Megan's eyes grew morose and she began to pull away from his touch. Before she could Bruce tightened his left hand's grip and brought his right hand up to cup her cheek. "Bruce?" Megan inquired.

Bruce looked into her eyes, remembering how they had entranced him when her passion danced in them like fire. _Do you even need to think about this, Banner?_ "Yes. I'm not sure it's love or anything, but I do 'like you like you.'"

Megan fidgeted before deciding to go for broke. "Kiss me, please?" she asked her face crimson but hopeful.

_Hell yes!_ he internally cheered. _Clearest 'approval to be approached' a beautiful woman has _ever_ given me._

He kissed her. It was chaste and not that terribly long, but it was clearly heartfelt.

_Perfect!_ emotional-Megan declared triumphantly.

_What evidence are you basing that conclusion on? _rational-Megan said, silently snorting. _We've literally never kissed anyone before._

_So you're saying we need repeated trials?_ emotional-Megan slyly inquired.

_You know what, emotional-me? I like the way you think after all. Begin the testing!_

After the kiss had ended, Bruce had sat there, unsure of how to proceed on account of his own inexperience with relationships. Megan coiled her arms around his neck and pulled him in for more.

"M-Megan? I—" Bruce gasped breathlessly as they separated from a second, much longer, less chaste, but still heartfelt kiss.

"Shut up, Bruce," Megan interrupted with a smirk before pulling him back in for thirds.

Happy, who had reached the bottom of the stairs during the second kiss, set down the shopping bags he'd been carrying and quickly ascended the stairs, leaving the two alone. Megan's father had hired him as her bodyguard back when she was sixteen, and Happy had known her ever since then. He had never seen her look at _anybody_ like that; he wasn't about to interrupt the moment. She was a big girl — she'd call if there was trouble.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 08:00a, EST | Langley AFB, Hampton, VA**

Ross walked into the operating room where Blonsky was being prepped for the super soldier injection. All of the necessary equipment had been stored at Langley, so he and his team and flown back during the night. This was doubtlessly the biggest risk he had ever taken, but he knew that if he wanted to catch Banner, he'd have to bet all his chips. He walked over to Blonsky and looked him in the eyes. "We're giving you a very low dose only. I need you sharp out there and disciplined. First sign of any side effect, we stop, and you're off team until you straighten out. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Blonsky answered without hesitation.

Ross turned to the doctor and nodded. At his prompting, she told Blonsky, "You'll get two separate infusions. One into the deep muscle; one into the bone marrow centers. The bone ones are going to _hurt_."

Blonsky stared at her coldly. "I don't care. Do it."

The doctor performed the injections, during which Blonsky could not help but scream in agony. When it was done, Ross asked him, "How do you feel?"

Blonsky tested his arm, flexing it and admiring the incredible strength that pulsed through it. He could feel the small spikes that had begun to protrude from his back, but he kept silent about them. He needed to be on the team if he was going to get close to Banner again. "Ready for round two."

"Then get to the loading bay. We're bringing in 'Mr. Blue.'"

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 08:30a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"Good morning, Dr. Banner. The time is 08:30a — your requested wake up time," Jarvis' voice intoned as the room's overhead lights came to life.

"Jarvis, you've got the wrong fucking room," Megan groggily replied, swatting at the air as if the simple gesture would will him away.

"Actually, ma'am, it is Dr. Banner who has the wrong room."

Bruce, who had begun to pull himself out of bed and to his feet proceeded to fall over, crumbling into a heap. Megan's eyes shot open in alarm before she clenched them shut with a wince, having subjected them to light too quickly. Once Bruce extracted himself from the floor and Megan's eyesight recovered, they turned to face each other and silently stared.

_Yep, he's really in my room. Totally slept in my bed. With me._ Megan checked under the sheet to see what she was wearing and found nothing but her birthday suit. She looked back up at Bruce — whose own nakedness her eyes now registered — made a small "eep" sound, clutched the sheet over herself as a cover with her left hand, and jabbed her right index finger towards the door. "_Out_."

Bruce didn't need to be told twice; he fled the room. Once he'd beat a retreat to _his_ room, he idly wondered what his heart rate was and reflexively checked his wrist before he remembered that he had lost it when he hulked out over the Pacific. He was surprised to find a new heart rate monitor strapped to it, which clearly displayed "155." _Thank heavens for minor miracles,_ he thought to himself, sighing with relief.

* * *

Bruce sat there in his room for an hour before he dared to leave. He would have left sooner, but lost his nerve when he heard Megan start the shower fifteen minutes in. He trudged towards the shower with a set of clothes in hand and hopped into the shower, letting the warm water ease his tension. The clothes had been in a small mound of shopping bags that he vaguely remembered depositing in his room at some point the night before. He tried to prep himself for contact with Megan, but after ten minutes of floundering in his own thoughts, unable to produce an explanation that sounded even half legitimate, he resigned himself to whatever judgment she deemed fitting. _Hell, that might be what happens regardless,_ he thought to himself.

He made his way down to the workshop with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man approaching the gallows, wearing a loose-fitting, surprisingly stretchy pair of blue jeans, a dark gray t-shirt, and a pair of plain boots. He found Megan already in the workshop, fully dressed with her pixie-cut hair still half wet, working on what appeared to be a hologram blueprint of her suit while she sat in one of her wheeled chairs. She was almost completely facing away from him, so he couldn't see her face well enough to judge how she was feeling.

"Were you drunk?" Megan called out to him as he entered, not turning away from her work.

"No," Bruce answered. "I haven't been able to get drunk since the accident." He began to panic, fearing that _she_ might have been drunk without him realizing it. "Were you?"

Megan abandoned her work twisting around to face him, the chair turning with her. When she saw the look of pure panic on his face, Megan shook her head. "No. At least, not with alcohol. Just you."

Bruce released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Oh thank god. If I had... I thought I might've _taken advantage_ of you by accident!"

Megan stood from her chair smiling, moved to his side, and pulled him into a gentle half hug. "That's sweet of you, Bruce. I just wanted to make sure everything that happened was... consensual. I didn't remember bringing out the spirits, but that didn't mean you hadn't sneaked any when I wasn't looking. Are _you_ okay? Heart rate not too high?"

Bruce nodded. "It was 155 when I got to my room." _I really don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but even if she's okay with what happened last night... _"Megan, I'm sorry, but we can't do that again."

"Why not?" Megan said with glazed eyes, frowning. She suspected she knew what the problem was, but she wanted to hear him say it, just in case he was having second thoughts about her.

"I was too distracted to look at my monitor last night, but I can't imagine it was in a safe zone. I can't let myself get too excited, or else..." Bruce left his sentence hanging, knowing Megan understood the implication.

"Okay. That's fine," Megan replied. "To be completely honest, although I did love last night, I'm still uncomfortable with my... equipment."

Bruce tensed up. "It's not because of me, is it? I swear I'm fi—"

Megan cut him off by pressing her index finger against his lips. "You _swear_?" she coyly said with a wink, hoping to calm him down. It did — Bruce visibly relaxed at their in-joke. "It's not you, Bruce," Megan explained with a sigh. "I've always been uneasy about it. A lot of transwomen are. I just haven't done anything about it because I promised my father I'd wait until I was twenty-five — that's a year and a half from now."

"Oh," Bruce said. "Well in that case, I guess I have time to work on controlling when the change occurs."

"Speaking of which," Megan said as she pulled away from him enough to retrieve her phone from her hoodie's pocket, "we need to arrange for Dr. Sterns' travel."

"Wouldn't it be quicker to just go to NYC?" Bruce replied confused.

Megan quirked an eyebrow. "While that _would_ be quicker, but it's New Years Eve, Bruce. Ross has your computer, so he'll know about Sterns and head us off. If he caused you to hulk out, there would be a huge risk of you showing up on live TV that most of the U.S. will be tuned into, and wouldn't _that_ be a fun way to ring in the new year? Besides, we'd be stuck if he's taken Sterns into custody, since we don't have the authority to get him back; we're only _candidates_ for a _secret_ initiative. So it's better to se—"

The phone in her hand rang. "Convenient timing," she said before accepting the call. "Philly, how are you? I was just about to..." She paused as a voice that Bruce presumed was "Philly" interrupted her. Megan paled. "_Oh no_."

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 12:18p, EST | Samuel Sterns' Office, New York University, New York City**

Ross and his team had pulled out all the stops to get to NYU after Blonsky's injection was over. They didn't know when Bruce and Megan would try to get Dr. Sterns, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been putting pressure on Ross to end his operation, so they had to move quickly before he was out of their reach. The university was generally empty, on account of the winter break, but their sniper had confirmed that Sterns was in his combination office/laboratory by checking through the windows. He was there and alone. Blonsky and two other men secured the corridor outside his office door, then moved into position: Blonsky centered on it and ready to break it down, and the other two men flanking either side of the door frame.

"On my mark," Blonsky muttered, gripping his rifle tightly. His teammates nodded silently. "Three... two... one..." His foot bashed the door in with incredible ease, sending it crashing into some nearby equipment. He charged in knowing the other men would follow him, and as the first one came through the frame, the other following him, Blonsky whipped his rifle around and unloaded it in the face of the one in the front, killing them both as the bullets passed through his skull into the one in the back. The sniper, who had had his sights leveled on Sterns, missed Blonksy's actions. He only saw Sterns leap to his feet and stare at the door before he bolted deeper into the lab.

"What happened?" Ross' voice roared through the team's radio. "Blonsky! Meyers! Brown!"

"I don't know where the shots came from, sir," Blonsky lied as he fired wildly into the hall before chasing after Sterns. "Meyers and Brown are down. I think they're dead, sir. I'm going after Sterns. The lab equipment will give me cover."

"I've got no visual," the sniper reported through the link. "Either the shooter isn't giving chase, or they know we've got the windows tagged."

"Copy that," Blonsky muttered as he found Sterns cowering in the back of the lab. He aimed his rifle at the man's head.

"Wait! What could I have possibly done deserve this?" Sterns wailed as he vainly shielded his head with his hands.

Blonsky ripped his earpiece out of his ear, threw it to the ground, and crushed it. "It's not what you've done. It's what you're gonna do. I know Banner sent you blood samples. I want that. I want that _power_."

Realization dawned on Sterns, and he stared calculatingly at Blonsky. "You look like you've got a little something in you already, don't you?"

"I want more," Blonsky replied without hesitation. He wasn't sure how Sterns knew about what he had already done, but he had no reason to hide it. He was desperate. The serum he'd been given had made his body better than he had ever felt, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He had seen the transformed Banner; he wasn't as powerful as that creature. Blonsky was a fighter, pure and simple. He couldn't accept not rising to the challenge that creature represented to him. "Have you seen what he becomes?"

Sterns shook his head, but his eyes never left Blonsky. "No, but he's described it. It must be beautiful — _godlike_."

Blonsky sneered at him. "Well, I want that. I _need_ that. _Make me that_."

"I don't know what you've got inside you already," Sterns said as he slowly rose from the floor, wary of the rifle that was trained on him. "The mix could be... an abomination." Blonsky's snarled, his eyes growing dark, and leveled the barrel of his gun at Sterns' head. Sterns hastily blurted out, "I didn't say I was unwilling! I just need informed consent." He gulped nervously and eyed the gun. "And you've given it."

* * *

"Blonsky, what's going on in there?" Ross inquired after a minute of radio silence. "Blonsky? Answer me, damn it!"

"Sir, this is Johnson. Rogers and I have finished searching the other rooms in the corridor. They're clear of hostiles."

"Then get in Sterns' lab and give Blonsky backup. Report back to me ASAP."

* * *

Bruce had been wary of sending Sterns too many blood samples, citing his worry that some of it might accidentally fall into the wrong hands — namely the military's. It had never been enough for the experiments Sterns wanted to perform on it, so he had improvised: He had concentrated it and made more. To Sterns, Bruce's concerns were outweighed by the potential the gamma irradiated blood held. With a little trial and error, there might be no limit to what the gamma technology could do. We could potentially unlock hundreds of cures — make humans impervious to disease. He could have gotten a Nobel prize! And so, he was happy to put Blonsky on his operating table and strap down his limbs. He was excited when he injected Blonsky with the replicated blood. He was practically giddy when he released he released a charge of gamma rays into the soldier's body. He was, however, surprised when Blonsky began to grow into morph into something altogether different than Bruce's description of his other half.

"This is what I was trying to explain," Sterns muttered as he watched the transformation in morbid fascination. "I don't know what you've been ladling into yourself. But it clearly worked!" Blonsky, the Abomination, released a guttural growl and easily ripped himself free from his restrains, his scaly gray body bursting with muscles and the short spikes lining his spine flexing. "Uh, let's assume you don't understand a word I'm saying," Sterns nervously said as the Abomination turned to face him, his grin maniacal and his eyes a brilliant neon green. "If you'll just get back on the table, I can _fix_ this."

"What the hell is that thing?" Johnson cried as he and Rogers stumbled upon them.

The Abomination brutally swatted Sterns, sending him flying into a nearby cabinet and shattering the containers of blood atop it, then charged at the soldiers. They opened fire on him, but he shrugged the bullets off like they were nothing, grabbed them both by the head, and crushed their skulls. He laughed, his voice deep and distorted from its original timbre, then jumped through the wall, landing in the street below.

In the office, Sterns still lived but the blow he had been dealt left him unable to move. He tasted blood in his mouth and began to feel strange. Glancing up as best as he could from his position on the floor, he saw that replicated blood was dripping into his open mouth. He couldn't see it, but his head had begun to mutate.

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 09:42a, PST | 10880 Malibu Point, 90265**

"Bruce, please try to not panic, but we have to get to NYC. _Now_," Megan said as she hastily tapped the circular groove in the floor.

"_Try to not panic," she says,_ Bruce wearily thought. _Because that always prevents people from panicking._ "What's going on? Did Fury decide to renege on the deal?"

"Jarvis, get the live feed from Times Square on one of the screens," she replied as her suit was assembled around her by mechanical arms. "Sterns mutated someone, Bruce — maybe himself. Ross attempted to capture him, but when they got there, they were attacked. Attacked by..." She trailed off as Bruce's eyes locked onto the monitor with the live feed. Even at this hour of the day, the square was normally packed with excited people ready to celebrate the new year, but now, it was chaos. The feed, which was normally ground level, was being captured by a camera in a helicopter flying overhead. The few people left standing were fleeing as fast as they could as a scaly gray giant destroyed everything in sight, a trail of fire and destruction in his wake.

"We're reporting to you live from the air above Times Square where a monster has begun to attack civilians and destroy local structures," an off-screen reporter announced. "Police have so far been unable to stop this abomination and are urging everyone to vacate a fifteen-block perimeter around the square. The national guard is —"

"BANNER!" the Abomination screeched, his piercing voice drowning out the reporter. "Fight me!"

The screen clicked off as Megan's suit came to life. She quickly closed the distance between herself and Bruce. Her faceplate flipped up, revealing fiery eyes. "He's killing people, Bruce. We _have_ to stop him. Are you with me?"

Bruce pulled his heart monitor off, set it on the closest table, and turned to face Megan, his eyes briefly flashing neon green. "Let's go."

* * *

**Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 02:06p, EST | Times Square, NYC**

When the duo reached New York City, Megan sighed in relief. She had been planning to test Bruce's apparent invincibility at some point, but she had intended to do it in a safe, controlled environment — not by dragging him along as she pushed the limits of her suit's speed. It was a miracle that Bruce had somehow not hulked out mid-flight. She wasn't sure Bruce could maintain enough control to allow her to fly him as the Hulk, but his large form absolutely would have made the flight longer. When they reached the square and Megan began to descend, Bruce tightly grabbed her arm.

"What is it?" Megan said, coming to a halt.

"Drop me," Bruce unflinchingly replied.

Megan's faceplate snapped up, and she gave him an incredulous look. "Bruce, are you crazy?"

"Trust me," he said before pulling himself up enough to peck her on the lips.

Megan bit her lip but nevertheless said, "Okay. In three..."

"Two..." Her faceplate snapped back down.

"One..." Her suit's red eye slits watched Bruce's eyes turn completely neon green.

She dropped him.

* * *

Phil Coulson was in a S.H.I.E.L.D. VTOL, coordinating what had become a joint military effort to stop the Abomination and get civilians to safety, when it happened: A human dropped out of the sky and impacted the ground across the square from the Abomination, who ceased destroying a tank and gazed intently at the dust cloud the impact had caused. An inhuman roar reverberated through the square; the Abomination's angry appearance twisted into something resembling a smile.

"Phil," Megan said as Jarvis hacked her into his communication line. "We're here. Pull back."

The dust began to clear, revealing a monstrous green man standing in an impact crater far to small for his large frame. He was clad in torn blue jeans, which gratefully hid the area between his waist and his calves, and his head was covered in a messy tangle of black hair. The expression on his face could only be described as anger — pure, unfiltered _anger_.

Phil could only stare. "Iron, is that —"

"The Hulk?" Megan said, interrupting him. "Why, yes it is." Phil couldn't tell by the sound of her voice, but Megan was just as shocked to see the real deal herself. This was her first time seeing Bruce's other half, as she had been moving at nearly the speed of sound the last time he had transformed and was knocked out before the change was complete. She slammed into the ground beside him and turned her head to look into his eyes. The Hulk did the same. Megan saw recognition in his eyes. "Let's do this, Bruce."

Phil's training kicked into gear. He immediately collected himself and began to order the troops. "All units are ordered to not engage the target. Fall back, regroup, and be ready in case things go bad."

"Who the hell are they?" someone shouted into the voice link.

"The cavalry," Phil answered.

"Banner..." the Abomination growled before bursting into a sprint towards the Hulk, who mirrored his actions. Megan's repulsors pushed her into the air, and she swung wide around the Abomination, aiming to flank him. The two masses of muscle clashed hard enough that a minor shock-wave resulted, pushing Megan off course.

"Better give the two titans some room," Megan muttered as she corrected her trajectory. "I can still hit him from a range."

The Abomination twisted to his right while dropping to a knee and flung the Hulk over and past him. Megan took the opportunity to unload a payload of miniature missiles from her arm storage. The gray monstrosity emerged from the resulting smoke unscathed, but the smoke gave the Hulk enough cover to charge in for another attack. The Abomination heard him coming but swung sideways, unable to see that the Hulk had ducked down, and was hit with a gruesome uppercut that knocked him backwards. Before he could recovering, Megan sent a repulsor blast at his eyes, temporarily blinding the creature.

While Bruce took advantage of the enemy's weakness by repeatedly smashing the Abomination's face, Megan sought help, "We need to end this quick, Jarvis. See any weak spots?"

"The eyes appear to be the softest part of the body, ma'am," Jarvis answered after a moment.

"That's not going to bring him down," she replied as she dodged a piece of rubble the Abomination hurled at her, aiming with his ears. "What else ya got?"

"The target appears to be breathing. Might I recommend choking him?"

"Wow, Jarvis. I don't remember including sadism in your personality, but yeah, that could work." _Requiem for an Obadiah, anyone?_ she internally joked. The Abomination had finally managed to end the Hulk's attack by sweeping the green giant's legs from under him and shoving him to the side as he fell. It proceeded to grab him by the ankles and throw him at Megan's flying form, but she dodged in time. With nothing between them, the Abomination rushed towards her, forcing her to blast up into the sky. _He can't get me up here,_ she thought. _Once Bruce is —_

The armor around her left calf caved in as the Abomination jumped, grabbed her leg, and proceeded to crush it. She let out a blood curdling scream of agony as she felt the metal slice into her leg. She tried to blast his hand away, but she missed, her senses were overloaded with pain and tears poured from her eyes. The pair fell to the earth with a crash, and the Abomination began to swing her down in an arc, hoping to smash her into the ground. Before the gray beast could finish the swing, the Hulk caught her with one hand and brutally crushed the Abomination's wrist, forcing him to release Megan, screaming in pain. The Hulk leaped backwards, putting distance between the two titans, and roared angrily at his gray counterpart, his face somehow managing to appear angrier than he had been at the start of the fight.

"Ma'am, the blood flow to your leg has been cut off. You need medical attention," Jarvis said, his voice uncharacteristically laced with worry. Megan whimpered, unable to feel half of her leg, but tersely replied, "No! We _have to stop_ that Abomination, Jarvis! I'll go to the fucking hospital later!"

The Hulk growled as he heard Megan's words, which were still being projected through her suit's external speakers. The Hulk was angry. He couldn't process why Megan was important, but he knew it was true. The Abomination had hurt her. He would die for it. The Abomination's gray face twisted into a darkly demented smirk. This was what he wanted — to fight Banner at full strength.

Megan's repulsors flared to life, and she haphazardly flew away, the loss of her left foot's repulsor and her lack of concentration making it impossible to fly straight. "Hulk! Choke him!" she screamed through her external speaker, hoping her words were simple enough, and her sentences short enough, that he would understand.

He did. The Hulk charged the Abomination with a surprising burst of speed and began to choke him with one hand while attempting to ward off attacks with the other. He had the upper hand for the moment, but Megan knew that one lucky hit would change that. "A chain," she said, a plan brewing in her head. "We need a — _fuck_!" She gasped as pain surged through her leg. She had unconsciously tried to bend her left leg, and her knee had unfortunately responded.

"Megan! Leave this to the Hulk and get out of there!" Phil shouted through the voice link, referring to Bruce with the name Megan had dubbed him.

"_Fuck you_, Phillip Coulson! I'm finishing this! Now _get me a chain_!"

"The corner of Lexington and 58th!" a gruff, intense voice Megan didn't recognize said through the link. "There's a construction site there were a crane!"

"Point me, Jarvis," Megan said, unfamiliar with the city's layout.

"North-east by east, ma'am. 40.761959, -73.968228. Follow the HUD."

Megan followed her HUD as quickly as she could in her hampered state, blearily following the directions as her tear-filled eyes processed them. The location wasn't far, so she reached it less than half a minute later, finding an under-construction skyscraper with several cranes on the plot. Mercifully, it was abandoned, no doubt due to the evacuation orders the news caster mentioned. One of them was holding no cargo, so she severed its chain, bundled it up enough that it wouldn't drag on the ground, and made her way back to the square. The Hulk and Abomination were still duking it out by the time she returned, but the Hulk was clearly in the superior position, his strength bolstered by his anger of Megan's injury. She knew she had to wait for the right moment to pass the chain lest the Abomination grab it instead, but the pain in her leg had become too intense. She could barely see straight; she wasn't sure she could do it on her own, much less continue to pilot the suit for much longer.

"Phil! I can't see straight. Tell me when to drop the chain!"

"_Trust me," Bruce said before pulling himself up enough to peck her on the lips._

"Now!" Phil shouted after a couple of seconds.

Megan dropped it, her world fading to black as she finally succumbed to the pain.

* * *

**Thursday, January 1st, 2004 04:42p, EST | NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, NYC**

"No! Bruce!" Megan screamed as she woke up, delirious from a dream she couldn't quite remember. She tried to open her eyes, but immediately clenched them shut again, blinded by the light.

"I'm here, Megan." Bruce's voice said, coming from her left side. She felt his arms wrap around her and squeeze her in a tight hug. She heard several pairs of feet rush into the room, but she couldn't see who with her eyes still shut.

"Bruce?" she weakly repeated, rubbing at her eyes with her right hand, her arm numbly responding. "Why do I feel so numb? Where are we?"

"We're at the hospital. It's over. The Hulk..." Bruce paused for a moment. She felt his shoulders twist slightly, as if looking around the room. "I killed that _Abomination_," he finished with a snarl. _He _was_ looking around the room then, _she concluded. _He didn't want to give away his identity. So all of those feet belong to people in the know?_

She warily opened her eyes, having wiped away the encrusted grit and grim. The light was still bright, but she could bear it until they adjusted. She turned her head to see who was in the room with them, and while her neck responded, it was slow, and she could barely feel it. Phil Coulson, Director Fury, and Natasha Romanoff were assembled around her bed in a half circle, arcing out from left, where Bruce was hugging her. Phil had a sombre look on his face and stood stiffly, while Natasha looked indifferent, and Fury was a mix thereof. On her right side, a woman in a navy blue uniform was attending to some medical instruments. A gray circle around a black eagle was emblazoned on her shoulder. Megan presumed she was someone from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s med division, but she wasn't sure. She had yet to see their logo, since Phil, Romanoff, and Fury had never worn any sort of official uniform. An older man she didn't recognize sat in a chair in the corner of the room, hunched over and sulking, his blonde hair and thick mustache disheveled. A young and built blonde man dressed in all black was guarding the door, a gun holster visible at his waist. Megan herself was in a hospital bed, the portion under her back inclined enough that she was half-sitting and half-lying down. Her clothes had been replaced with the standard hospital wear, and she had several blankets draped over her to keep her warm.

Megan was surprised. _This is a lot of people._ But for the guy at the door, they were all staring at her. Feeling uncomfortable, she tried to push herself up a bit in the bed, but found her arm was simply too numb. "Why do I feel numb?" she asked again.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Bruce's eyes fall, a sad look covering his face. "Megan, they had to, so they could... I- I swear it was necessary."

"You swear?" she asked, her mouth only able to form half a grin due to the lack of sensation. Bruce said nothing. "Bruce?" she worriedly asked, her eyes widening. Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. "Bruce?" Her voice fell to a whisper.

"He cut off part of your leg, Megan," Phil answered, seeing Bruce's voice was failing him. "Normally they can reattach it, but... you waited too long."

She didn't believe him. She tore at the covers, her arms weakly responding to her demands. She dared reality to prove Phil wrong. When she finally uncovered herself, she saw her left leg was swathed in bandages and ended in a stump just below her knee.

"Oh god," she murmured, her voice suddenly hoarse. She had said those words before back in Afghanistan when she found her chest connected to a car battery — a battery keeping shrapnel out of her heart. Somehow, this was worse.

Her left hand shakily approached it before Bruce gently grabbed her forearm. "Megan, you can't," he managed to say, his voice recovered. "The bandages —"

"_Fuck the bandages_," she screamed at him.

Bruce removed his hand like he had been burned. He stared at her, unsure of how to respond. His eyes had flared neon green for a moment before slowly fading back to their normal blue. Her own eyes grew desperate. "Bruce, I- I'm sorry. I... I _need_ this. I... need to know if this is _real_."

Bruce's hand dropped into his lap. "I understand."

Her left had begun moving towards the bandages again, shaking uncontrollably. She couldn't grab it gently; the movement of her hand was too much. Finally, she settled for just grabbing it roughly. Pain seared through her. She released a short yelp of agony but refused to let go. She had to feel the damage. She _had to know_. Slowly, her fingers softly probed at the bandages, inspecting what her eyes could not, while she whimpered — whether from the pain or the implication of what she felt, she wasn't sure.

Megan removed her hand, letting it fall limply to the side of the stump she knew had been her left leg. "Please leave," she muttered, her voice soft. One by one, the people assembled left the room, murmuring apologies and well wishes as they left. Megan didn't have the heart to thank them. Eventually, only Bruce and the lady who had been checking the bedside instruments remained.

"I'll be back to change your bandages later," the lady said before she got up exited the room.

Bruce began to stand from the chair he had been sitting in, but Megan stopped him with a whispered, "Please stay, Bruce." They sat there in silence. She wasn't sure how long it took her to finally break down, but she abruptly sobbed and began to cry. Bruce hugged her gently, and she clutched at him like a lifeline. Even when the staff came in to change her bandages, she didn't stop crying. Even when her eyes ran out of tears to release, sobs racked her body. Bruce never left her side and never stopped holding her.

Hours later, Megan finally stopped, her sapped body unable to remain conscious. As Bruce held her soft, sleeping body, his mind replayed the memory of the Abomination's death. His eyes slowly changed to neon green as the anger inside him reached the boiling point. He knew he couldn't suppress the rage this time. He braced himself, expecting to hulk out, but the change never came. The hatred festered in his heart, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Realization dawned on him: He didn't fear the transformation anymore. He didn't enjoy the thought of the ramifications of hulking out in a hospital, especially while he was holding Megan, but he didn't fear the _form itself_. The Hulk had given him the gift of revenge. He respected it now. He was willing to summon its power. He wasn't sure if the anger in his heart would ever relent, but he knew he and the Hulk saw eye to eye now. He would never loose these green eyes. They were a promise to anyone who dared to cross him or his lover: _He_ was the Hulk.

Bruce's neon green eyes sadly looked over Megan's tear-stained face. "I will protect you, Megan. _I swear it_."

As if she had heard him, the still unconscious Megan murmured, "I love you too, Bruce."


End file.
